


Fractured Gods

by sailtheplains



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), The Unexpectables (Podcast)
Genre: Bard - Freeform, Fighter, Gen, Kenku, Orc, Ranger - Freeform, Teifling, barbarian, cleric - Freeform, kobold, rogue - Freeform, tidbits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: I like writing about character moments and tidbits. I just recently caught up to the Unexpectables podcast (Ep114). (They now have a twitch channel! Watch all their shows for free! Interact with the cast! https://www.twitch.tv/theunexpectables)------------------For no reason at all, Remy thought of that horrible Rat King monstrosity he’d fought with Cliff (and Doug), Pardner and Vladimir in Fishbarrow. He still had dreams about all the blood. And then all the screaming when Cliff’s…boss…took over? The kenku rolled his broad shoulders with a grimace. It might have been interesting if the three of them could be with him now. But then again, he didn't have any coins that he wanted to allow them to eat.Adventurers and mercenaries. Too many hits to the skull, most of them.------------------
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Standing Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like music when I write.  
> Centennial - The Humming Tapes : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKdotnm5lKA  
> \------------------------  
> Remy contemplating as he guards the mounts outside the cave  
> \------------------------

_Perhaps I should not have stayed behind._

The falcon kenku, Remy Corbeau, leaned against the stone entrance of the cave, looking for dragons. 

Volo nuzzled under his elbow and he managed a crack of a smile. “I know, Volo. They had to go. Someone had to stay.”

 _Truly? Is that it?_ Remy looked away from the horizon, pacing back to the small fire. The lizardhounds were sturdy but not too bright. It might have been better if they’d selected the spider but nothing could be done for that now. The gryphon rider had been able to coax Volo into the entrance with some persuasion (food) and eventually the lizardhounds followed.

Walking in from the outside, the cave had a long tunnel that opened into a slightly wider cavern. This cavern contained the mouth the others had gone in just a few hours ago. Green had done three or four laps every hour, going to the mouth and then restlessly wandering back to the fire. The other lizardhounds were eating up some of the rations Remy had kept back. He might have to try to hunt if the others didn’t return within a few days. 

The kenku felt that pang of anxiety again and tried to shove it down. “I told Greckles he’d be back,” he said quietly, out loud, for no one. “They’ll be back.”

He still couldn’t shake the unease. He felt Volo watching him as he knelt to the small fire. They were far enough back from the entrance that Remy figured none could see them. And _everywhere_ smelled like smoke with all the damn dragons attacking. 

_I needed…time._

Remy looked back, into the velvet blackness, where the others had gone without him. Perhaps, after his outburst at the orc encampment, the unexpected loss of control, the reflexive _rage_ when Borky used his name to _scold_ him….

_I apologized._

And that was good. That was proper, that was taking responsibility for his actions. And Borky had been…well, Borky about it. Which was to say, compassionate and stubborn. The orc had a deceptively simple way of viewing the world. His wild ferocity meshed surprisingly well with Remy’s military precision. And he forgave, which Remy was grateful for. Perhaps, when they all returned to Alivast, he and Borky could train together. They’d both benefit from that. 

But the outburst had still happened. The panicked grip of fear had seemingly booted all rationale out of his head. Remy normally tried to keep his bearing at all times. The exception was combat. When his blood was up, the falcon part of him wanted to take over. But in the camp, that had been different. That was different from anything that had occurred previous. Borky had had to yell at him and Greckles had attempted to calm him but when all those orcs had been around him….

It was like drowning. Remy had felt like he was suffocating. They would pull him down and then the knives would fall. The haze had been so hard to think through, like an unschooled boy, a green recruit. And even though none of the others seemed angry, Remy wasn’t sure he trusted himself in an enclosed space right now. 

Judas padded over next to the fire and licked Remy’s shoulder, making the feathers flip up. He reached out a talon and petted the lizardhound. “Remind me to thank Panic when they get back.” 

Judas cocked his head, licking his eye as he seemed to recognize his rider’s name. He snuffled at Remy’s palm. “Yes, I imagine you can smell him still? Believe me, I’m quite different.”

Panic was like incense. Earthy spice and a constant smoldering ember burn. Remy liked Panic. He was more aware of people, just in general. Perhaps because he was a musician? The tiefling had suffered a lonely childhood and much turmoil as he became an adult. Those experiences tended to bring out either the best or the worst in people. In Panic, it seemed to have distilled a sense of compassion. It was pleasant, really, watching Panic interact with Scarlet. His ego never got in the way. 

Meeting Panic’s mother, when she’d called Remy handsome and Panic suddenly looked like he’d been bashed on the head. They had both laughed about it later, though Panic indicated he’d rather not have to call him _Dad._ Panic’s experiences had taught him the value of compassion, of people. 

In Task, it had done the opposite. His clan being slaughtered had turned the kobold in on himself like a whirling saw blade. Task was prone to angry outbursts, rudeness and a difficulty seeing big picture sort of concepts. Though the red-scale had massively improved since their first meeting, sometimes Remy still had to remind himself to take a breath and be patient.

Task still thought that fear and respect were the same. He’d pulled a knife on Enceladus for gods’ sake, a researcher and, moreover, a civilian. But Remy had enough experience around soldiers to know that all this behavior likely stemmed from deep-seated pain or insecurity (or both) that Task had not really dealt with. And so, like many such wounds, it festered in his mind. He saw enemies and portents of doom everywhere and that kind of outlook, in Remy’s experience, could be just as detrimental. A person like that might make less mistakes over all, but the ones they _did_ make would likely be much worse.

Hanzaki chirped, snatching up a fly and munching it. He had enthusiastically licked Remy’s armor clean of dirt as soon as he’d removed it. Greckles’ mount seemed a bit off but Remy couldn’t claim to be an expert on lizardhounds. Perhaps dirt was amicable to their stomachs? Like a dog that eats grass. 

Remy reached over and patted Hanzaki. The relationship he had with Greckles felt…somewhat strained at times. He had attempted to integrate their common heritage as a means of getting to know him. It had worked, at first, until their initial few times in combat together. Remy was a leader. He’d been trained for it. It came naturally to him. He was able to step back and view the big picture. Greckles and Task both struggled with that. Their interactions with him had shifted afterwards.

That wasn’t bad. It was simply a skill and, like everything else, it had to be learned. Greckles still seemed to be trying to figure out who he was. The other kenku had agonized about Lady Solly, almost obsessing over her. But at the same time, oddly uninterested in parts of her life. Like when she’d grown wings to save Panic from falling to his death. _Just Asamar things, I suppose._

And then had come Tracadia.

Meeting the wereravens seemed to have a profound impact on Greckles. The albino one likely reminded him of Yukiko, the woman who may still be alive in the Eastern Isles. That had seemed to cripple Greckles with conflict. It couldn’t have been more obvious than the painfully awkward interaction Greckles, Lady Solly, and Quarian had had at the festival. 

Remy sighed and coughed a little on ash. He straightened up to check the fire, rubbing his eyes to ensure he was alert. But the fire was small, glowing embers. Just enough to give them light but not even visible from the cave's outside entrance, standing guard until the others returned. Remy scanned the cave. Volo’s eyes opened and he sat up when Remy did, nudging at the kenku’s talons before standing on all fours. 

Volo was staring towards the cave mouth. His wings puffed out.

“Volo?” Remy peered at the gryphon, glancing around the cavern again. A chill went up his spine, like cobwebs, a clinging mist, pulling at his feathers. 

The lizardhounds perked as well. All of them fell silent. All of them getting up, not chirping, all turning to face the cave's shadowed entrance. 

For no reason at all, Remy thought of that horrible Rat King monstrosity he’d fought with Cliff (and Doug), Pardner and Vladimir in Fishbarrow. He still had dreams about all the blood. And then all the screaming when Cliff’s…boss…took over? The kenku rolled his broad shoulders with a grimace. It might have been interesting if the three of them could be with him now. But then again, he didn't have any coins that he wanted to allow them to eat. _Adventurers and mercenaries. Too many hits to the skull, most of them._

The fire seemed dimmer. Volo and the lizardhounds were still staring towards the cave entrance. 

“Volo, what’s wrong?"

The gryphon looked at him. It was the silence that Remy found a little unnerving. Volo just _looked_ at him. Restlessly, the gryphon paced in a circle and then turned back to face the tunnel that headed outside. 

Well, if Remy had learned one thing about gryphons (maybe not so much the lizardhounds), they could often sense things he couldn’t. He drew his longsword. More ash dusted up into the air. Remy shot a look back at the fire but it was just low embers, no real scattering ash. Strange. He glanced at the animals. Volo and the lizardhounds were still all silently turned, facing the dragon hunting grounds outside. 

The light was very muted from the entrance and Remy loosed his shield. If something had crept in from the dark, there was a chance he might have missed it. He scanned the tunnel as he crept forward, eyes darting, feathers coming up, bristling in the misty air. 

No, not mist. Ash. The stone ground had black soot or ash on it. Remy stopped. _There definitely was not ash here earlier._ He took a deep breath. _An illusion spell, perhaps? Something magical?_ He scraped his talons on the stone but the ash sifted around, making a swirling smear, dusting up around him. It seemed to be real.

Remy peered at it and then gazed around him again, scanning with his sharp eyes. But without darkvision, he could only look for unnatural movement in the gloom. He couldn’t see anything without moving towards the outside entrance. _I feel as though I am being watched._

A creeping sensation up his spine, an unease that flickered in the shadows, clinging like the ash. Remy banged his sword against his shield and stomped forward. “If someone is there, show yourself!”

The tiny fire behind him went out and a stream of cold air seemed to sift through his feathers, urging him forward. Remy looked back but he could no longer see Volo or the lizardhounds. “Ah, what the…” Remy turned forward.

The entrance to the cave was suddenly in front of him. But the surrounding outside area had changed. Remy jerked his sword up but he couldn’t see anything. Just darkness and stone. Everything was stone. And beyond, some sort of black, oily water. Frosty wind hit him again, this time a blast of air, and with it, a wall of black ash. 

Remy raised his shield over his beak. _What is happening? Shit, I need Panic._

The clouds were thick. He could no longer see anything and then, just as suddenly as it happened, the ash settled. It all sucked down into two figures who were now standing in the shallows of the black water. They were facing each other, one very tall and standing beneath a dead tree and the other, much smaller, bowing slightly before it.

The tall one was dressed in some sort of gauzy black lace, stitched and studded over dark leathers. There was a long, tattered cloak, dragging in black ash. On its face was a white mask. It was totally blank, just with dark holes at the eyes, edged in glittering obsidian. It had an air of mystery about it. Like masquerades, when people wore the elaborate masks and costumes. The tall one had a shapely feminine dress, brocade and lace and leather, elegant but worn.

The small figure, Remy realized quite suddenly, was some sort of kenku. He could just make out a tawny beak, half hidden by a ragged shift and molted, dirty feathers. It bowed to this tall, imposing woman. The kenku’s cloak was glittering as ash particles whisked through bands of intense moonlight. 

The tall figure’s mask seemed to peer at the kenku. _”Do you know who I am, friend?”_ The voice was strange, like a thousand fluttering wings, a whisper among the dead leaves. 

The figure managed a croak, which Remy recognized as a mimicry. “Raven Queen of the Ash Haven. Cousin to our forebears.” The voice was heavy, male, it sounded rhythmic, like an elder might chant it.

_”Memory exists to me of the Aarakocra.”_

”Raven Queen, honored cousin to our forebears.” This time the voice was older and female, like a stern grandmother. The kenku bowed again.

The tall, dark woman inclined her blank mask. Ravens seemed to emerge from the ash at her feet, sifting up to her shoulders, to the dead tree limbs above her. _”What were you looking for?”_

The ragged kenku did not respond. It seemed to consider the question, as if searching for an answer. There was a long moment of silence. The black water suddenly _rippled_ and everything around the gaunt kenku seemed to freeze in place.

And then that masked woman turned, empty eyes looking _directly_ at Remy. _”What were you looking for?”_

Remy furrowed his brow and automatically took a step back, gripping into his shield straps. 

_”Remus!”_

The falcon kenku nearly choked. He knew that voice. He knew that voice anywhere. That was his _father’s_ voice. Remy whipped around, searching behind him. But there was nothing. Just the entrance of the cave and drifts of black ash. 

When the gryphon captain looked back, the tall woman was towering over him. Remy suddenly felt rooted to the ground, everything in him arrested. The mask had changed. This Raven Queen’s mask had been blank but for the obsidian around the eye holes. Now there were bloody fingerprints on the face.

_(”What were you looking for—!”)_

Remus jumped awake next to the fire. Volo perked when he moved, nudging at him. The kenku strangled a shaking breath and leaned into the gryphon. “Bad dream. Just a bad dream.” 

_  
_  
_  
_  
_  
_


	2. Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music I listened to was the ambient album: Aokigahara - Flowers for Bodysnatchers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FErvaalrgs&list=OLAK5uy_mXVhasiR73ipmMAYlf93rk5zkM1ilTjiA
> 
> \------------------------------------  
> I like to imagine that if Yukiko is a fighter then she moves exactly like Lord Shen from Kung Fu Panda 2.  
> \------------------------------------
> 
> “I’m gonna be real with you, lads. We have been through a _lot_ of traumatic shit,” Borky spoke up, opening his still-sudsy hands to them. “I mean, we was literally tied up and tossed off a damn boat in the middle of the fucking ocean! We _went_ to Tracadia, I don’t even remember why now—“
> 
> “Pilchard,” Task reminded him.
> 
> “—fucking soulless, godforsaken place. Panic has almost died, uh, a lot!”
> 
> \------------------------------------

Sometimes, Panic could still feel the _resonance._

His lungs felt like they were sticking together, like his heart was going to burst, as if he were slowly being strangled. During the day, Panic could take some deep breaths, drink some ale to swallow the feeling down. But at night…

The dreams were very intense and the tiefling would wake, thrashing, legs tangled in the sheets. That had been the case this night. That _feeling_ from the Realm of Discord and everything that had happened inbetween. The terrifying metal rejects underground and the slaughter they’d endured at the Mountain of Repetition. Fuck. Panic was ready for a goddamn break. 

The bard sat in the bathhouse, trying to soothe his headache (from the hangover or the nightmares, he couldn’t be sure, maybe both) in the steaming water. He had a towel folded on the edge to rest his head on and a bottle of wine sitting next him. Some candles were lit to provide a warm glow and the sounds of Alivast were dimmed to nothing but murmurs in the wind. 

For a time, he just stared at the hot water, contemplating before he finally opened the bottle. It was a red, spiced wine. He heated it with a wave of his hand before he sipped from it. Hellina being followed by that Primtash bitch’s agents. Scarlet hanging around with fucking Tiengo. A giant, dwarven, demon door underneath the building (again). Tai Borpington still had a fish head.

The tiefling took another deep breath. There was nothing he could do about much of that. He took another drink out of the bottle.

The door to the changing room opened. Steamy mist swirled around as Borky stomped into the baths. Panic sat up a little as the orc suddenly seemed to notice him.

“Hallo Panic,” Borky said, sounding a little bleary. He had a ridiculously small towel wrapped around him as he stepped down into the baths. 

Panic offered him the bottle. “What are you doing awake, big guy?”

Borky shook his head at the wine. “Ah, Greckles is up there thrashing about, making angry bird noises.” 

Panic took another long drink from the bottle and then set it up on the stone. “Nightmares?”

“Lotsa talkin, reminds me of….” Borky shook himself and dunked his face in the water. When he came up, wiping water from his eyes, Panic was just quietly looking at him with an eyebrow raised. “Whut?”

“Well. Go on,” Panic told him, gesturing out with his hand. 

Borky snorted again, shrugging his shoulders and looking away. “Lived in a stronghold, they was mostly assholes.”

Panic furrowed his brows. “…….so they talked in their sleep?”

“Nooo, Panic,” Borky drawled, seeming to shake the discomfort off. “It’s a big area. Sound travels. If you lose a fight, and you’re dying, they let you die. People say all kinds of things as they die.”

Panic studied Borky’s profile as his dark eyes seemed to become distant for a moment. “Yeah, that’s true, big guy.” 

“But if I go in there and wake him up, he’ll probably peck me with his bird beak!”

“That is also true,” Panic agreed. 

“All right, you twisted my arm!” Borky declared, picking up the wine bottle and taking a swig. 

Panic smiled and rolled his eyes. “You better get good with wine, Borky. Rich people drink that with cheese.”

Borky jerked a little, mouth slack. “Whut? Like, pour it on top?”

“No, Borky, like a pairing!” Panic laughed. 

“Oh good, soggy cheese is probably not good.” The orc furrowed his eyebrows. “Texture would be all thrown off.”

“I think cheese covers a lot of textures. There might be a soggy one out there.”

Borky put the bottle down and wiped his face with his fist. “If you say so, Panic. Rich people are weird. Wine-soaked cheese, huh?” 

“Rich people,” Panic agreed, shrugging. “Hopefully, that’ll be us one day. Understanding soggy cheese.”

“I just gotta talk to a few more people. And I have to have Azra Sahar come with me to the bank when I take the money out.”

“Ha, uh, why?” Panic asked, looking bemused.

“Because, Panic,” he drawled on the tiefling’s name again, “she signed on my account, remember! So she has to come with me when I take all the gold out.”

Panic stared at him. “Are we talking about the same person? The kobold?”

“Yeah, Task’s sort-of grammie, I guess. Angry a lot, short, red, she kicked Doros’ ass.”

“How in the _hell_ did you get her to do that?”

Borky looked surprised at the question, shrugging. “Well, I asked her!”

Panic stared hard at Borky an extra moment. Honestly, if the orc were literally _anyone_ else, the bard would have thought they were fucking with him. But Borky just looked back curiously. Panic shook himself. “Well, apparently, they’ll all be back soon. If Solly is learning to fight from her, she’s going to be a badass when she comes back.”

“Wonder how Greckles is gonna like that, eh?” Borky chuckled.

Panic opened his mouth to reply and then didn’t. Instead, he drank from the wine bottle again, contemplating. Greckles was uncertain of himself sometimes, sure. He wanted to be _needed._ He’d thrown himself into a pretty intense relationship with Solly. And the poor halfling didn’t seem to even be aware of it. She didn’t even know how to make friends. 

But Greckles had been rebounding after being tossed out for making eyes at a bird above his pay grade or something and Solly had been running from the Inquisition. They’d both needed a friend. But with Greckles…well, sometimes he put Solly on a pedestal. And that was a place she had no desire to be. It probably put a lot of pressure on her, every time Greckles came at her with the religion talk, making her out to be his holy grail or something. Especially given that the Inquisition had basically done the same thing, only they definitely did not have her best interests at heart. 

Granted, Panic didn’t think much of religion himself but personally, whatever helped someone sleep at night was their own business. So initially, the tiefling had been dismissive when the kenku ‘found’ Orun. He’d thought, at the time, that Greckles was just projecting his need for approval onto Solly. But perhaps he’d been wrong. Maybe there was more to that Orun shit. 

Certainly, god-like beings existed. But they didn’t seem to be omnipotent and definitely weren’t all-knowing. _No offense, Ith,_ he thought, almost reflexively.

In his head, he heard an amused little voice answer back: _(Drifting, directionless, divine?)_

 _Eh, so not that different from us mortals._ Panic smiled crookedly.

The changing room door opened again and Task plodded out, wearing a grimace. “Oh,” the kobold announced, “I thought I heard talking in here.”

“Did our dulcet tones draw you here?” Borky asked, embellishing grandly with his hand.

“I would have preferred ghosts, thanks,” Task snorted at him, getting down into the bath. “So what the hell are you two doing up?”

“Well,” Borky jumped in, “Greckles is having a bad dream and it woke me up. Panic is just hungover.”

Task raised an eye ridge at Panic. The tiefling shrugged. “Mostly correct.”

“Well, I heard Greckles too, Borky. So that’s why I’m here. I can’t just wake him up or he’ll peck me or something.”

Borky pointed at Task, as if that proved his earlier statement. “We’ll have to throw Kiwi at him.”

“He might kill Kiwi,” Task replied.

Borky raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know if you recall but Kiwi turned into a godless killing machine when he got a weapon.”

“It wasn’t even a weapon, it was a damn pan,” Panic agreed. 

Borky shook his head solemnly. “He’s an adorable, terrible, little monster.”

“Doesn't he have a crush on Robin?” Panic asked as Task began to paddle around, the tips of his large ears trailing in the water.

Borky’s mouth fell open. “He _does?!_ Oh my god, we have to help him.”

“No, we don’t,” Task said, sternly. 

Panic considered it. “I mean, we could help him a little bit. It wouldn't take much. We invite her by, she comes over, Kiwi panics and accidentally throws a tray of steak knives at her somehow, you know?” He offered out the wine bottle to the ranger.

Task bristled his scales in the hot water, standing on the bench before he took the bottle and uncorked it. “And then Fluffy will have to make Borpington new knives and Helga might murder Kiwi for almost murdering a customer.”

Borky stroked his chin. “Well, maybe Robin’s into that.”

“Yes, Borky,” Task said, flatly. “I’m sure that’s what Robin is in to.”

“Just goes to show,” Borky said slowly, looking impressed. “You can never judge a bird by its covers.”

“Close enough,” Panic assured, clapping him on the shoulder. As Task passed the bottle to the orc, Panic stretched, bracing his elbows on the ledge of the bath. “How is Winter, by the way?”

Task’s shoulders hunched a little, still unaccustomed to answering for his feelings. He did not seem to enjoy it, not that Panic blamed him. That vulnerability was still very raw for Task, like a slow-healing burn. Any hint of teasing or mockery and the kobold might shut down on them. 

That was where Remy had really helped. Before they met him, Task and Greckles sort of made decisions together. Task was a strategist, so he had the most experience. But leaders had to do a lot more than just plan an attack. They had to work with their people, get to know them, and help them perform to their best. Task was more accustomed to planning strikes and was still basically learning how to function with non-kobolds. But he was still very _aggressive._ So, Panic had watched those developments with interest, not sure what Task would do when confronted with a trained leader among them. 

Surprisingly, however, Task actually seemed to become calmer when the gryphon captain was around. Leadership came with a lot of pressure and responsibility. Not something Panic enjoyed, personally. Maybe Task hadn’t enjoyed it either. When the kobold seemed to realize that Remy was there to help and support them (making no attempt to challenge anyone for leadership, merely offering advice), he’d relaxed a little. He allowed Remy to take some of that pressure off him so the ranger could focus on shooting things. Which, of course, Task would have never admitted to. 

Remy stepped into that role very naturally. And, in combat, Panic found him fairly easy to work with and take cues from. They hadn’t done much together in town, really, not like Remy and Greckles had. But it wasn't due to any sort of dislike. Corbeau was a good guy, a little straight-laced for Panic’s taste but good. They didn’t have much in common, really. Panic had been a little surprised when Remy offered to go with him to see Hellina. But it had actually gone rather well, all things considered. Remy toured the perimeter while they talked, even. He was a damn good wingman (actual bird-heritage aside). 

And when Remy stayed behind at the mountain, Panic remembered that clutch of unease in his gut when Borky had suggested they might use Luistrog’s helmet on the orc chieftain. There were so many ways that could go very, _very_ wrong. That seemed like a last resort’s last resort. But so much had been happening both inside and outside the mountain and no one wanted to confront that idea, at the time. 

Explaining cheese and wine to Borky would be nothing compared to attempting to convey the repulsion at the idea of using the Helmet like that. Luistrog wanted to die. It wasn’t fair to force him to continue to suffer for their own incompetence. Thankfully, Borky had decided on his own not to use the Helmet.

Remy did not seem to be a fan of the idea either and he was probably the moral compass among them. The _might-be-fun-to-corrupt_ type. Panic had known a few in his younger days. He wasn’t really keen on all that anymore. Or, at least, he didn’t go looking for it. Panic was a man of opportunity. If it knocked, he might answer, or maybe he wouldn’t. The persona he rocked as a rowdy bard made it very easy for him to hide in plain sight. 

“Winter is still resting. She’s recovering,” Task answered, voice careful, almost practiced. He slipped back into the water to let the heat seep in under his scales. “She indicated some sort of spell took away her ability to speak. Could be that finding out more could help her get her voice back.”

“Maybe Solly knows someone we could ask.” Panic took a deep breath. “You know, I used to think my days at the bard college were wild but none of it really prepared me for Alivast.”

“And that is how you know that college is a scam,” Borky told them sagely, rubbing soap into his hair. 

Task rolled his eyes. Panic emptied the wine bottle, smiling a little. “I’ll remember that when you’re trying to fill out all your paperwork.”

Borky grimaced and made a face. “I can read it! I am a learn _ed_ man, _thank you.”_

“Greckles is using Lys’ mask. So that’s probably what’s happening to him.” Task told them, looking at the water pensively. “I know we all have nightmares. Places we’ve been, things we’ve done. We don’t need the mask for that. But the dreams from Lys are different. They were almost like…trials, perhaps. In and of themselves.”

Panic rubbed his eyes. His temples were starting to hurt again. _Should have grabbed two bottles of wine._ “My head is so full of all this bullshit I don’t even know where to start. It all blends together.”

“I’m gonna be real with you, lads. We have been through a _lot_ of traumatic shit,” Borky spoke up, opening his still-sudsy hands to them. “I mean, we was literally tied up and tossed off a damn boat in the middle of the fucking ocean! We _went_ to Tracadia, I don’t even remember why now—“

“Pilchard,” Task reminded him.

“—fucking soulless, godforsaken place. Panic has almost died, uh, a lot!”

“Do _friendly fire_ kills count against _me?_ That is some bullshit, Borky.”

“In all fairness,” Task interjected, “if you want to keep running to the front, Panic, you should probably start training with Remy.”

 _"So_ many dragons have tried to kill us, you know. Like, a lot. Fleur de Morte, all the nature that tried to kill us. The Realm of Discord, that’s another good one that I hate.” Borky grimaced when he thought of that terrible place. The sharp, cracked edges and haunting wire forms stalking through his dreams like shadows, like ghosts. Always shredding bodies, always sharp, wiry teeth, crusted with blood….

The orc dunked his head into the water to get the soap out.

“Anyway, when Borky tried the mask, he was all messed up the next morning. So we should probably check on Greckles if he doesn’t get up to pray,” Task said, sighing. 

Panic looked sidelong at Task. “I can’t blame him if he’s trying to find answers through that mask but it can bite back pretty damn hard.”

“He said he saw some sort of fire spirit or something.” Task absently touched the scales over his heart. 

“Maybe we should make Helga wake him up,” Borky suggested.

“Have Anje do it,” Panic said instead. 

“He would probably make Greckles a nice, little nest outside.”

“The only thing we can _really_ do,” Task interrupted them, raising his voice, “is endure. We all have to do it. It is part of the process, I think.” The kobold crossed his arms. “Panic, you had to endure them before we went to the Realm of Discord.”

“Just _that_ place was pretty endurance-testing,” Borky added, laying a hot, wet cloth on his head. 

Panic felt a shiver roll down his spine. He drew his arms into the water. “All we can do is hang around. Greckles is weird about us asking him things sometimes. We can’t _make_ him tell us.”

“Yeah…” Task sighed. “He is…like me in some ways, I guess. Or, at least, I relate to that.”

“Ha, I get it! Similar tastes,” Borky realized, snapping his fingers. “Winter is all white and Greckles’ girlfriend was all white.”

“.....huh,” Panic mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

“Oh, shut up, Borky!” Task snapped.

The grackles kenku had his legs folded beneath him, talons knitted together in his lap. The breeze drifted, touching his head feathers, skimming through them. On that northern wind, the young man could smell fresh rain and cherry blossoms. In front of him, there was a small, clear pool, fed by a trickling tributary from the mountains. A turtle sat sunning itself on a stone. Clean, sweet hay was being cut down below the cliffs, creating a sea of gold to the edge of the horizon.

He could feel the light on his face, sensing how his feathers perked and lifted towards the rising sun. It was a cool, crisp morning. The cliffs he perched on went down a sheer hundred foot drop to the fields below. Mist was rolling over the higher cliffs behind him, whisking through the piercing dawn. 

_“Ohaiyo gozaimasu.” (Good morning.)_

He opened his eyes and there she was. _Oh gods._

As striking as the first time he’d seen her. Sparkling like a snowflake, her albino peacock feathers spread like fanning frost on a window. She was elegant, so graceful. The darts of sunlight glimmered through her soft, brilliant feathers. 

“Yukiko…” His heart swelled at the sight of her. He wanted to reach for her. Her kimono was silvery, embroidered with glittering snowy thread. She was willowy, slender but strong. And quite excellent with blades. Maybe that was what he heard? A whisper of cloth, the draw of metal—

He ducked, shooting backwards. Yukiko’s eyes glimmered like rubies as she flickered forward, slashing with her silver dagger. He heard it cut the air next to his face when she struck again and then _—wham!—_ Yukiko’s fan of white tailfeathers slammed into him like a warhammer. He sprawled into the little pool. She moved like lightening to pounce on him.

The grackles kenku struggled to rise, everything felt heavy, so _heavy._ And she was on him. Yukiko. But it couldn’t be her. She would never attack him. She would never—

Her talons stabbed into his chest and he felt it again.

Yes, he’d felt this before, hadn’t he?

The burning sensation. The soot in the air. Screaming. Blood splattered over Yukiko’s snowy feathers. Everything that had given him meaning, stripped away in an instant. _Who are you when no one is telling you who you can be?_

His feathers were burning. He could smell it. The glimmering blue crisped black, his throat was cracking, talons chipping. The air was burned out of him, lungs shriveling. His mouth tasted coppery, thick, and his tongue was coarse. Fighting to breathe, his eyes were swimming and burning, everything was burning. Inside and out, roasting like an inferno, deafening him. Like he were drowning in searing air. 

Those red eyes stared down at him, weeping. 

When Greckles’ eyes opened, he didn’t move. His bedding was hot and tangled around his legs but for a moment, he was too exhausted to push them away. Take a moment, revel in the relief. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. He stared blankly at the wall. _I am awake. Just a dream._

He pulled the mask away and set it on the nighttable. Somehow, he was exhausted. Sure, nightmares did that sometimes. They’d all had bad dreams. But this felt…somehow more real. Like a blanket of chains, pulling him down, trying to lock him in place. To get up would be to lift a heavy stone, a boulder, from his chest. 

_Get up. If you’re going to get anything done, you have to get up._

He still felt bleary, stiff, but he made himself put a hand out and grip onto the bedpost. His feathers were shivering a little, struggling to maintain heat, as if in an icy sweat. As he sat up, Greckles had to breathe deep. But his head was aching and spinning and he cupped his eyes in his palm for a moment to ride it out. 

He didn’t _need_ anyone’s approval anymore. He didn’t have to please the Eastern Isles, the elders, the gods, anyone. Back then, he’d loved Yukiko more than anything his pride could give. It hadn’t mattered how little anyone else thought of him, so long as he had her. 

But now, everything that had given Greckles meaning then, was gone. Even his name, his real name. But now, he had friends here. Now, he had Alivast. Now, he had the Sweet Dragon and all his employees. 

Task, the kobold, quick to shoot, and _might_ ask questions after. Task could be arrogant, at times, but the ranger wanted revenge, he wanted to put the memory of his clan being slaughtered to rest. And now, Darkus was dead. Task’s great enemy was defeated and the kobold had somehow gone on a sort of spirit journey and met Tarusk far, far in the future. 

Task had apparently been there for a month. And meanwhile, for them, no time had passed. Greckles could admit he was a little envious, for the person Task left as was different than the Task who returned to save them. Greckles wanted an experience like that. Something that would affect him so _profoundly_ that it would change his outlook on the world.

_You can choose to have a different outlook anytime you wish. That is up to you._

The kenku scowled. His teachers and the elders had once said such things. It was technically true, Greckles supposed, but he couldn’t see it for himself here. He had a new life in Alivast, certainly. He had a family here but that didn't mean he wouldn't lose everything again. 

Perhaps, he was still trying to actually accept the idea of them as family. As if to tell it to himself enough times would make it true. Task reminded him of his fellow students, when he’d been training. Remy was like an older brother, reliable, honest and good. Remy tried to help people where, at times, Greckles could admit that he and Task were more likely to be brutal. They both would have cited efficiency. The idea of using Luistrog’s helm on the warchief hadn’t bothered him as much as it had bothered Panic. It might be useful as an emergency if everything else went to shit.

Panic and Borky were more independent, more likely to do their own thing. Less likely to try and make group decisions. Task looked to solve problems in the quickest, easiest way possible. Remy tended to solve problems by looking at the people involved, trying to do the best for as many as possible. The noble was better suited for it, really. His fellow kenku had looked after Kiwi when Task made it apparent he didn’t care if the little pirate lived or not. 

Kiwi needed direction and protection. But he’d been surprisingly forgiving when Greckles revealed that he’d continued lying to him for a while. He had to wonder if Fletch was ever going to show up at the Sweet Dragon. The rogue was a little curious about this other dark-feathered kenku. After all, their kind weren’t common. Greckles had seen a greater variety of kenku here in Alivast than he ever had. 

And Solly, of course. Solly was so gentle, innocent, broken. Something about her loneliness had drawn him in like a moth. The intensity had allowed him to ignore the overwhelming pain of losing Yukiko for a time. Solly was like a candle in the darkness, so bright and fragile. Greckles would protect that little light if it fucking killed him. 

But he’d almost gone too far, even with that. He’d been so single-mindedly focused on protecting her that he lost sight of who she was. When Solly had taken him to the café and explained how she’d basically been treated like a concubine, like a prostitute, imprisoned away from regular people and treated like some kind of specimen, a _thing_ for Paraton to greedily covet. Until she came of age and then she would be used as a broodmother. 

_That_ was something Greckles hadn’t been ready for. How she felt and what her motivations were was so beyond what he had ever experienced. No wonder he hadn’t understood her. She barely understood herself. She had to fight passed years of indoctrination to even comprehend that she wasn’t just a bloodline farm. They could treat her however horribly they wanted, so long as she could bear little asamar children. The horrific rapes and abuse that would occur in a system like that….

Made to feel _helpless_ at every turn, her entire life, no matter what. He couldn’t imagine. Horrific. 

Greckles took a deep breath. Going to the Underdark had probably been good for Solly. He was still worried about her, still wondered how she was doing but she had Azra Sahar and the others with her. She was probably going to learn a lot. 

_I hope she comes back soon. I’d like to see her again._

But in the meantime, Greckles still had plenty to think about. The visions of fire, the dreams, the council, the burning feeling in his chest. The dreams were intense enough that he could still _feel_ Yukiko’s talons piercing his heart. But there was ample opportunity to do good here in the city. Yuguu was still here. Maybe they could try and help him get home, wherever that was? 

_Sometimes, one can help themselves by helping others._ But not in a ‘Oh-look-what-I-did, see-how-good-I-am’ sort of way. Help in a way that doesn’t involve one’s own ego. Greckles didn’t believe himself to be evil…but maybe he wasn’t always good either. But he _did_ try. He was still figuring out who he was after everything had been stripped away. He still wanted it all back sometimes, which he knew wasn’t possible. Change was just part of—

There was a _bang! bang!_ on the door.

Greckles rubbed his eyes and stood up.

“GRECKLES?!”

The kenku rubbed his beak as Borky yelled on the other side of the door. He sighed. “Yes, Borky, I’m—“

The door flew open and the orc bounded in, looking in every direction. “Wanted to make sure you wasn’t all twisted up like a pretzel!”

Greckles picked up the tin cup on his nightstand, preparing to throw it at Borky, who instinctively put his hands over his face. But then the rogue paused, looking at the cup and then at Borky. Greckles gently put it back down and walked up to the orc. “I’m not, Borky, but thanks, you know. I, uh, am not used to people looking out for me and I appreciate it.”

For just a second, Borky peered at him, searching his expression, and then said, “Oh, well, gosh, Greckles. I wasn’t expectin’ that. We just didn’t see you prayin—“

“Okay, okay! Next time I’ll just throw the cup!”

Borky beamed and ruffled Greckles’ headfeathers. “You still feel rough, right? We got hot tea from Mister Borpington! So come and tell that beautiful fish-man how amazing his tea is.”

Greckles took in a deep breath of the scent of breakfast cooking and allowed himself a smile. “That and everything else. Thanks, Borky.”  
-  
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	3. Bird Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music: Strange Names: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e06Avgyj8hk&t  
> \---------------------------  
> Nell is based around the Shining-Green Hummingbird: https://ebird.org/species/shghum1  
> \---------------------------  
> Torrin's Jug is based on an item from the TableTop Champions, another podcast I've listened to.  
> \-----‐----------------------  
> “Borky,” Panic snickered, still looking at his reflection, “if you want to know about _that,_ you don’t need to listen at our doors at night. I can just take you to the Romansion. Let a professional sort it out for you, you know?”
> 
> Borky’s face twisted like he’d been pricked with a pin. And then he said, “What are _they_ going to know about people who talk in their _sleep?”_  
>  \---------------------------

Remy was glad that they were able to see Yuugu to his herd. But when the boy was gone, the kenku couldn’t help but feel a strange pang of loss. The child might have towered over them all but he was still a child, lost, alone and frightened in a world he didn’t understand. And after the torture he’d endured as a slave, the poor thing, Remy could understand his mistrust and fear. 

He had been afraid that telling Yuugu a little story like he had….well, that Yuugu might find it….strange. Or uncomfortable, perhaps. But the boy seemed to like it. Perhaps Remy had just wanted him to know that not everyone in the wide world was a callous monster. Or maybe to help Remy feel connected to his own lost father. 

Remy shook himself. He’d been thinking about his father a lot, lately. The gryphon captain raised his eyes from his plate. 

The young lord had initially been intending to meet his friends at their tavern and head out into the city for the day. But, of course, as soon as he walked in and indicated he planned to simply sip some tea while he waited for them to wake, Mister Borpington immediately brought him a rasher of bacon, toast, strawberries with cream _and_ the tea to break his fast. When Remy started to object, the halfling had trilled, "Oh no, Remy! I already had it prepared! It's so good to see you!" 

It made Remy smile, glad that the Unexpectables had elected to help such a talented, good man, despite his curse. The halfling was quite considerate in every way, and never asked for much. _I wonder how we might get a Wish for him sometime._

Mister Borpington's food was also excellent and Remy was loathe to let it simply go to waste just because he'd already had a delicious breakfast from his mother. It would practically be heresy. And Mister Borpington never brought anything too heavy for the kenku. Remy and Greckles were similar in eating lightly, though the falcon was the taller and broader of them. He brushed some crumbs from his beak with a napkin.

Borky was thumping around down the hall in the group's new wing of living quarters, no doubt having finished his morning ritual. Panic was already at the table, smoking from a long-stemmed pipe and sipping mulled wine over a plate of hash browns, toast and sausages. The tiefling was admiring the ornate horn they’d received from Yuugu’s father, checking his reflection in the glinting gold and jewels.

Task was also at the table, chomping down a platter of meat and eggs. The ranger, like Remy, had taken an interest in Yuugu. And it had been pleasant watching Task interact with the yak-boy. The kobold had changed so much. It was like a snap of candlelight. Darkus was dead and Task dropped the weight of it like a stone. He was slower to rage, more patient. There was the sense of loss, of course. When one is consumed with vengeance, they have nothing when it’s gone. But it seemed that Task would be able to create meaning for himself instead of letting it destroy him. Thank _all_ the Gods for that.

“I didn’t dream at _all_ last night, Borky!” Greckles’ husky voice came out from the hall as the kenku appeared with Borky. 

“I heard you talkin—so you’re either meetin up with someone in secret like a creepy bird or you were having a scary Lys-dream, like a creepy bird.”

“I guess I’m just a creepy bird, Borky.”

“I _feel_ like you shouldn’t be as annoyed by that as you sound,” Borky told him, thumping over to the table. “Mornin, lads. I checked Greckles. He’s not dead. As you can see.” He gestured to the kenku with his hand. 

Greckles rolled his eyes. Task and Panic snorted. Remy fought a smile and took a sip of his tea. 

“Why you listenin at people’s doors?” Kiwi asked, as if he’d stepped out of the very air next to Borky.

The orc jumped, cringing away from him. “AH! Allgodsfuckingdammit, Kiwi!”

“Yeah, Borky,” Task said, voice totally flat and expression deadpan. “Why are you listening at people’s doors?”

“OH! Good morning, Borky~!” Mister Borpington came fluttering back into the main room with a tray. His little body was constantly moving to make up for his poor fish-head. “I was keeping your breakfast warm for you!”

He wobbled over, setting a plate of meat, biscuits and eggs in front of Borky and bacon, biscuits and cherries (no cream) for Greckles. “I’ll be back with tea for you!” The chef informed them with his warbling voice, scuttling back into the kitchen to retrieve an urn of tea for Greckles and a light ale for the barbarian. 

“Borky,” Panic snickered, still looking at his reflection, “if you want to know about _that,_ you don’t need to listen at our doors at night. I can just take you to the Romansion. Let a professional sort it out for you, you know?”

Borky’s face twisted like he’d been pricked with a pin. And then he said, “What are _they_ going to know about people who talk in their _sleep?”_

“That’s true,” Task agreed, straight-faced, pointing at Borky. “Their whole thing is _not_ sleeping.”

Panic laughed. Remy smiled and shook his head. Greckles just stared at the orc, and then slowly, purposefully, threw a napkin on his face. 

The door to the Sweet Dragon hit the tiny bell that announced a visitor and in came a ragged traveler. Specifically, a kenku. The beak that stuck out from the damp hood was dark and slender. The kenku looked around the tavern before making its way to the counter.

There, Helga surfaced from a crate of bottles. The orc woman wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “Yes, we only serve ale or wine before lunchtime. What would you like?” The orc woman asked, voice low and bored. 

“Mulled wine, if you have it?” The voice was low-pitched but sounded female. She slid a coin to Helga. When she received her flagon, she sipped it quietly there at the counter. 

Panic noticed her first. He narrowed one eye as he chewed some toast. “You know, I’ve seen more kenku in this tavern than I have in my whole life.”

“Well, this is apparently where all the creepy types come,” Greckles said, following Panic’s gaze to the counter. “Looks like a hummingbird-type.”

Borky seemed intrigued. “How can ya tell?”

“The beak, Borky, it’s longer and narrowed compared to mine and Remy’s,” Greckles told him. 

“Sort of like mine,” Kiwi added, appearing at their table with dark, strong coffee for Task. The kobold was the only one who could drink from the same pot as Helga. 

Remy looked over as well. “Alivast attracts those from all walks of life.”

Helga suddenly pointed over the kenku’s shoulder to their table and raised her voice: “That is them, unfortunately.”

Panic smiled and sat back in his seat, not at all hiding his observation of her when the kenku turned to walk towards them. She drew down her hood as she approached, revealing headfeathers that were dark, glossy green. The traveler's plumage gradated towards black and blue at the tips and underfeathers. Her studded leathers were muddy and worn.

There was a shortbow strapped to her pack, as well as a dozen other bits and bobs that would be of use to a traveler. And several other bits and bobs that weren’t of use at all but were quite shiny and colorful. Three prisms reflected casts of rainbows around the tavern when the sunlight hit them through the window. There were beads and embroidered feathers, tiny bottles, tattered quills, dried herbs and several seashells. There was a dusting of snow melting on her cloak and a shortsword and dagger were sheathed at her side. She held back though, observing them all at the table for a moment. 

“Can we help you?” Panic asked, raising his voice over the table conversation and making eye contact.

“Is it fucking business hours already?” Task grumbled at his coffee. 

The kenku’s dark green eyes lingered on Greckles, Kiwi, and Remy before looking to Panic. She bowed her head to the table. “I apologize.” She had a lilt to her voice that reminded him of his own, Panic noted. “I did not intend to interrupt your breakfast. I will drink some of this excellent mulled wine and warm up. But when you are finished, if I could have a moment of your time, I would appreciate it.”

“Are you looking specifically for the Unexpectables or just mercenaries?” Remy looked up at the woman. 

Borky grunted and rolled his eyes. “You’re one of us now, Remy. You can’t escape it.”

“One of us~!” Panic chanted, pounding the table. “One of us~!”

She waited respectfully for the chuckles to lull before she answered. “I hoped to speak with the Unexpectables because I have heard that they have experience at finding things and people. But please, at your convenience.” She bowed her head to them again and took her mulled wine to the fireplace. 

Kiwi hurried over to take her order but she politely declined anything further. Her cloak was dirty and soaked from the street, so the kenku hung it at the fireplace and went to work, peeling off the chunks of mud clinging to the hem.

“Well, we need a little work to keep us getting rusty?” Borky leaned in to say.

“Yeah, yeah,” Task said, waving a hand. “Just lemme drink my damn coffee first.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Greckles said, pushing out his chair.

“Uh huh,” Borky said knowingly, winking at Panic. “Bird Club.” 

Greckles lightly smacked him over the head as he passed.

Remy stood as well. “Bird Club,” the lord agreed with a little grin and a wink. The fighter tailed Greckles like a bodyguard, a step to the side and back. When the rogue kenku approached, the traveler stood to face him. 

“Greetings,” she said, inclining her head to them both.

“Good morning.” Greckles circled her, analyzing her stance and dirty gear, studded leathers, worn with travel. She was smaller than him by about six inches but she held herself solidly and did not cringe back. “Are you new to Alivast?”

“I am but word of the Unexpectables has traveled very far,” she answered, back straight and eyes alert, talons folded together. Her gaze skittered over Greckles and then went to Remy again before darting back. “Ah, my name is Zubanell. Please, call me, Nell.” 

“Well, I’m Greckles and this is Remy.” He returned the little bow with one himself. “We don’t get to see a lot of other kenku but in Alivast, there’s quite a variety.” 

“Remus Corbeau, of House Corbeau, at your service.” He bowed his noble head to her.

For a moment, she stared at Remy and then seemed to swiftly come to attention again. “Thank you, Captain Corbeau. I admit, the village I came from had only other hummingbird kenku, like myself, save for our druid, who was an owl-type. I have never seen your types.”

“I am a falcon-type,” Remy said, graciously. “You must have come from far away if you’ve never seen other varieties of kenku?”

“I left my home some time ago, far off to the west but during my journeys, I met only two other kenku, both starlings. I have heard the communities of our kind are difficult to find if they do not wish to be found.”

Greckles watched her face as she spoke to Remy, looking for any hint of a lie. “Luckily, Alivast is different. I am a grackles-type. Seems a little obvious, I guess, but the kiwi-type running around—his name is Kiwi. There’s Mister Ba-Caw, chicken-type, he runs a great Eastern Isles place and then his daughter, Robin, is a robin-type.” 

“And Horus, the owl-type,” Remy added.

“Ah yes, I met him at the front gate.”

“Did you have a ticket into Alivast?” Greckles asked, peering at her. That was when he saw the first flicker in her dark green eyes. 

“I did not,” she answered, more slowly. “I am transporting some scrolls that I found to the library and on my way across the continent, I heard of the Unexpectables. Who hasn’t by now, I suppose. But with that kind of renowned, I imagine comes a fee, of which I am prepared to discuss.”

“Well, that will depend on what you have need of, Ms Nell,” Remy told her. 

“Of course, Captain,” she agreed, politely. Nell looked to Greckles. “Then if you wish, I will tell you now, Mister Birdman?”

Greckles sat down in one of the other chairs by the fire. Remy stayed standing, just observing that she seemed to already know his title and Greckles' last name. Nell began, hands still folded in front of her: 

“I am a translator. It is my craft. I learn languages and then I find things to translate for a modest fee. Typically, I wander from one place to another so when I heard about Alivast, I wanted to see it. On my way across the continent, I heard of a large sinkhole that appeared in the northeast of Alivast, which exposed some buried ruins. I have reason to believe that there might be fey magic there.” 

Nell opened her pack and drew out one roll of leather and two rolls of paper. “These are copies of three maps that I received and translated. The originals are around three to four hundred years old and far too fragile to carry casually. The leather one is the elven map, and, as you can see, it is the newest and most updated copy. The other two maps here: this one is orcish and that one is dwarven. I am still creating drafts of these two before I commit them to leather."

"They are of varying size, in regards to the area versus what is actually shown on the maps. The elven map is the largest and most complete above-ground map. The landmass appears to be the continent of Alivast but there are no cities or other constructed landmarks noted. The dwarven map is more focused to the eastern side of the continent and has more geographical detail. But the orcish map is the most focused on one particular area."

She arranged the three maps next to each other so all could see. "As you might notice, all three have this area marked, which happens to line up perfectly with the location of this sinkhole that has supposedly opened there.” She pointed to the northeast section of the elven and dwarven maps, and the very middle of the orcish map, just to the north of a lima bean-shaped lake.

“And all the names could relate to the fey, given how each race tends to view fey and their magic. _Trail of Stars,_ on the elven map. _Gate of Tricks,_ on the orcish map and the _Wyld Gate,_ on the dwarven map. But these names are not on any modern maps that I have come across of this area. And this lake appears to no longer exist. So, I’d guess, the ruins may have been buried there for, at least, four hundred years.”

“Tangling with fey magic is not always a wise idea,” Greckles said, peering down at the orcish map. The sketches were fairly detailed and scattered with notes about distances and terrain on sturdy planning paper. The lake itself didn't seem to have a name on any of the maps. 

“Definitely not. Fey are tricky. But it might hold knowledge about Alivast itself. Something that existed before this city. I have heard that there are northerners who might know more about the area but I have not met with them yet and I don’t know if I could communicate with them.”

“This would take four to six days to reach, it looks like,” Remy opined, studying the dwarven map.

“Yes. Though, I have not seen this sinkhole for myself, so I do not know its dimensions or depth, just a general location.”

“So this might not be an in-and-out expedition,” Greckles mused. 

“Correct, that is why I wanted to come bearing adequate payment. I have two thousand gold pieces that I can give your group up front, as well as magical items to use and keep.”

Greckles looked intrigued. “Oh, really? What kind of items?”

“Did she say magical items?” Panic inquired, picking up his cup to take with him as he left their table to come look.

Nell shifted the sidetable to herself and pulled an oddly wrapped bundle out of her pack. She placed several items before them. Two rings, a scroll, a whip, a screwdriver, a cloak, and a jug. “The ring with the sapphire is a Ring of Flight, the pewter one is an Anti-Scrying ring. The scroll allows you to cast _Revivify.”_

She picked up the leather whip and offered it for examination. “This is a Banishment Whip. When it strikes, it has the chance to banish creatures. The screwdriver can store four toolsets and up to four simple spells of the user’s choice. The cloak allows the wearer to cast _Spider Climb._ And the jug is called _Torrin's Jug._ It can replicate any liquid that’s put inside of it and has three command words. One to flood it clean and fill it with water, one to replicate, and one to shoot a geyser out of the top.”

"A geyser?" Panic asked. "What, like, to hit someone with it?"

"That is my understanding," Nell agreed, smiling a little.

“Where did you get these items?” Remy asked, examining the scroll.

“On my travels across the continents, all things I have collected at some time or another. The Banishment Whip and the two rings, I found in some underground ruins to the south. There were two dead wizards there as well, whose belongings and research I am returning to the library in their stead. The scroll, cloak and the jug, I received as payment for helping a caravan of merchants with bandits. The screwdriver came my way from dwarven traders a few years ago. I found their trading post by accident. I gave them some of my feathers and all the trinkets I had for it. Very useful.” 

“But you don’t want it anymore?” Greckles asked, still closely watching her expressions.

“I am a spellcaster myself now so it is less necessary for me to have. But I know I will need help in those ruins and I’m willing to offer it if it will convince you.”

“You are prepared to come with us then?” Remy said, placing the scroll down gently. 

“As another part of payment, I would like to offer my spells. I can protect us at night as we travel with a conjured shelter and I have participated in combat before. Though, I have not fought any dragons.”

“Hang around us long enough, you might,” Panic said, presenting his hand over his black dragonscale jacket.

“Very impressive,” she agreed, inclining her head to him. “I believe I have heard of you, Mister Panic Grimtongue? Those in the outside city spoke of the tiefling bard who saved Alivast when I inquired about the Unexpectables.”

Panic beamed, pointing finger-crossbows. “Hey, hey, that is me!” The bard bowed with a little flourish. “Panic Grimtongue, the one and only!”

“Are we introducing ourselves?” Borky asked. He stuck his hand out. “Borky the Orky!”

Nell smiled and took his hand. Her grip was firm. “Outside the city, many said that Warchief Borky was the cleverest of orcs and stronger than a goliath. But with his pigeon Tubbs, he’s the picture of gentility.”

Borky made a face, looking down his nose at all of them for a moment and mimed adjusting a monocle. _“Gentility,_ lads.”

“Wait, so you asked about all of us in Tent Town?” Panic chuckled. “Outside the walls?”

“I did,” she replied. “I can only be here for a brief amount of time, due to my library pass. I did not want to waste time having to search every tavern, so I asked around for information in the outer city. A great many people knew of the Unexpectables and exactly where to find you.”

“I hate to consider what they probably said about me,” Task announced as he joined their circle with a fresh coffee cup. 

Nell again bowed her head respectfully. “They say that Master Task flew a mighty dragon of the clockwork goddess Oreyara to defeat the evil dragonborn, Darkus. And, in the process, saved the Unexpectables and several citizens of Alivast from a cataclysmic ritual that would have rained down hellfire upon us all.”

Task looked down into his mug. “Huh,” he ruminated. 

“Seriously, buddy,” Greckles told him, crossing his arms.

“What’d they say about Greckles?” Panic asked eagerly.

She fought a smile. “They said that Greckles Birdman the Rogue is a shadow under the sun but also a candle in the dark. The clever kenku that hid darts among his feathers, even from crazed cultists. He keeps hope in the dark.” 

Tarusk lumbered into the room, colliding with Task and knocking him off his feet. “Tarusk, you’re getting too big for that!” The ranger popped back up but seemed to relax a little as he patted and talked to his dragonson.

“What about Remy!” Panic urged.

“Panic,” Remy grunted. “Not necessary.”

“Nobody asked you, Remy. C’mon! What’d they say!”

Nell laughed a little, inclining her head to him. “They said that Captain Corbeau is honest and wise with a noble manner, and discipline in his step. They indicated that you were a knight, ser.”

Remy sighed. “I am captain of the gryphon legion here in Alivast. Stories are, perhaps, more fantastical than the real thing.”

“Tch, says you,” Panic snorted. “They said I was the best bard in Alivast. That’s just the honest truth.”

“They said you _saved_ Alivast,” Remy pointed out. 

“I mean, what’s the difference? I saved Alivast, so I’m the best by default,” Panic mused, holding his hands out. “Did they say I was the best? It’s Nell, right?”

“Yes. And well, many indicated that they loved your bardic skills and claimed to have heard you play and sing.”

“Did they say I was handsome? And if so, _how_ handsome?” 

“Panic,” Greckles interrupted, exasperated. “Let’s get the details straightened out. We don’t even know if we’re taking the job yet.”

That sobered Nell and her face returned to a more neutral expression. Kiwi hurried up with an urn of mulled wine and left it for them.

Tarusk turned to the others now, seeming to make a point to greet each of them in his own dragon-way. He knew them all by their scents, and as he gained awareness, Tarusk was understanding their names too. Borky liked wrestling with him now that he was big enough. Panic could be counted on to sneak him bits of food behind his father’s and Zotira's backs. Greckles, Remy, and Kiwi always seemed odd in a way. They were like him, but not. Kenku ancestors were born flying, and learned to walk. Whereas dragons were born to walk and must learn to fly. And they had very snappable bird bones. 

He smelled those same hollow bird-bones in this traveler and the spicy scent of magic. She tensed just a hair when he approached her. 

“Is that…a young dragon?” 

“Tarusk,” Task told her as the young blue dragon stuck his head up into her face, peering at her curiously.

The kenku woman brushed down his neck carefully. “Hallo, Tarusk. You are very big. I imagine you’ll be massive one day.” She looked into his eyes. “Can he understand us?”

Tarusk chirped and licked her whole arm. It made her smile. 

“Mmm, tasty,” Borky supplied. “More bird-meat!”

“Hey, no, he knows!” Task immediately objected, pointing at Borky. “Small birds only! Not…uh. Not. Kenku. And no pigeons. At least, not in Alivast.”

“Can he tell the difference?” Borky asked. 

Everyone hesitated, pondering.

“I would think they would smell different?” Remy suggested. 

“And the _size,_ Borky,” Greckles said.

Borky snorted. “Size don’t mean shit. If you’re hungry or mad enough, you might still try.” The orc stared at the young dragon. “That said, I swear to the gods, Tarusk, if you try to eat Tubbs, I will climb inside of you to get him out.”

“If he eats Tubbs, Tarusk might die of heart failure,” Panic said, breaking into a grin.

Task pointed. “Anyway. Where did you get these maps?”

“They belonged to the druid of my village. When I decided to leave, she gave them to me. I did not actually realize the maps were of Alivast itself until I arrived here. She could only read the elven map. I learned Orcish and Dwarven so that I could better translate the other two. The additional languages I can translate will also be at your disposal.”

“What do you know?” Remy inquired.

“Orcish, Elven, the most common dialect of Human, Dwarven, Infernal, Undercommon, Avian, and Goblin. I also have spells to comprehend languages that I don’t know. I am currently studying Abyssal, Draconic and Gnomish.” 

“Well, Panic, maybe you can get a break from being our translator,” Task said, studying the maps intently.

“Oohh, do you speak yak-folk?” 

Nell blinked at him. “What?”

“Nevermind. Long story.” Panic waved a hand. “By the way, yak-folk exist.”

“Do you need an answer this moment or will you be in the vicinity for a time?” Remy asked.

“I will go down to the outer city after I stop by the library. There is an inn there, the Brass Bridle, where I have taken a room for a week to rest from my travels.”

“That would be perfect,” Task said. “Let us talk about resources and we’ll send you a message in Tent Town within the next week.”

She nodded gratefully to them. "Thank you very much for your consideration. I will await your message. I will leave these paper copies with you, if you wished to research into the area for yourselves. But the leather one I will take with me." The kenku carefully wrapped up the elven map and stowed it away. She left soon after, making sure to thank them, and Helga, once more before disappearing onto the street.

-  
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	4. Mimic-ry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spell (which Danir also uses in Role With Me) here is called Galders Tower:  
> http://dnd5e.wikidot.com/spell:galders-tower
> 
> The Mystic's Dream: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFAfWH_CKVw
> 
> \------------------  
> The trunk rumbled, shook and suddenly came to life. It thumped across the tile on hundreds of tiny crab-like legs and spun around to gaze at them. When the trunk lid opened, they could all see rows of sharp teeth. But, almost like a dog, the trunk seemed to smile with its terrifying lid contents and then positioned itself in front of the door.  
> \-------------------  
> Also lol I just wanted to throw a little Wolfgang reference in there.  
> \-------------------

The sky to the west was coral pinks and purples, the last cascading shards of daylight melting into the horizon. It was just on the balmy side of cool, except for when the wind would whip up with furious force across the expansive plains ahead of them. They had reached the edge of the forest at a perfect time to set up camp. 

Panic liked the city. Honestly, he preferred it. But nature was all right too. He plucked on his guitar for the birds nesting in the fir trees above them. The scent of pine was thick here, the ground blanketed in dead nettles. A last night in cover before they crossed the flatlands. 

Panic was sitting on a little chair, complete with a small table, outside of the wizard tower that their new traveling companion had conjured. The others were relaxing in the baths on the second floor while he stepped outside, took out his pipe and looked down at his sending stone. 

He thought, for just a moment, to message Hellina but…he couldn’t imagine what he might say to correct the uncertainty the poor woman now seemed to feel. But he had his answer, at least. That was straight-forward. She didn’t notice, didn’t think of him in such a way, hadn’t healed to such a point to even consider. The bard placed his guitar beside him, fingers idly tracing the swirl of porcelain at the neck. _Time to move on, maybe, eh?_

The stars were starting to wink into light above him as the shadows continued to lengthen and a bright torch lit itself by the front door. Two candles popped into existence on the tiny side table. Panic traced the rune with his thumb. Perhaps, he could message Euphoria. _My mother._ But that just made him frown, setting the stone on the tiny table.

In the past, Task and Greckles, especially Greckles, had made comments about how _lucky_ Panic was to have found his mother and have closure. Panic had never really responded because the idea of having closure was such a strange concept to him. 

What even _was_ closure? When he looked at the sending stone, it gave him a pang because Euphoria still wasn’t _here._ Yes, she was alive and they’d spoken and worked together but then she left. Panic would have gladly found her a place in the city but she was alive and that was wonderful. But she was still gone, off to find his father. Perhaps, he had secretly been hoping to feel more fulfilled and yet…

But he couldn’t figure out how to explain that to Greckles. Given the snide comments from the kenku, it hardly seemed worth it. When he’d tried talking to Greckles after the battle with Darkus, the rogue had simply dismissed him, left him hanging with random rebukes and zero context. 

It didn’t have anything to do with Panic himself, he was sure. The bard was certain that it was Greckles’ own issues that made those comments drive out like barbed, hooking thorns. But still, he felt those little needles each time, the deflecting resentment over something Panic had never had any control over and still didn’t. Even Scarlet had started to resent him… 

It made him grateful for Borky. The orc was silly sometimes but he understood loneliness and compassion. He was wiser than the others gave him credit for. Well. Sometimes, anyway.

But there was a reason that Panic had almost gotten killed by running to the front with the barbarian. Task had to be at range and Greckles had to hide. They couldn’t just leave Borky out in the open alone to get his face kicked in. Someone had to go fucking help him. And Panic was just the one that had. Sure, yeah, Panic complained about almost getting killed a few times but if he had to make the choice again, he knew it would probably be the same. 

Anyway, Remy was here now to help so Panic could step back and, hopefully, not get skewered by one of the others.

Panic rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Feeling things intensely reminds us that we are still alive. Both boon and curse._

Scarlet’s resentment had probably hurt the most. Like no matter what he did, everyone around him would resent him. At that thought, Panic slid the stone back into his pocket and got up. There were windows on either side of the door but from the outside, they appeared to be frosted over.

He could hear the others chatting as he stepped inside. This mage tower was really something. Nell had cast the spell but then offered them three copies of it on scrolls, in case something happened to her during their travel (the mage seemed to be taking their safety and comfort quite seriously). Of course, they planned to give one to Willow and keep two for themselves. Nell's current casting had three floors and was constructed of dark brick, plated with wood. 

Panic got the strangest feeling that he’d seen something like this before, an odd wave of deja vu. Suddenly, he heard Ith:

 _(“A distant life, a sudden death, the game of faces, sacraments. A father mourns, he bears his strife, to save his child, avenge his wife.”)_

Panic made a face. _What the hell was all that, Ith?_

But there was no answer so the tiefling shook himself, dismissed his ethereal guitar and continued inside. The door was dark wood and opened soundlessly to a tiled, slightly sunken, foyer area. Here, they had placed all their bags and gear. Once the glossy, royal blue tiles ended, the flooring changed to warm wood.

There were several large, spacious couches with very wide bases and squashy cushions. All of them created a horseshoe at the back wall around the fireplace. It was, really, an incredibly cozy chamber. All the overstuffed armchairs and couches were stacked with quilts and pillows. There was a large table that was crammed with foodstuffs, including ale, wine and mead. 

Nothing could be removed from the tower's immediate vicinity but while inside, everything was real. There was even a sidebar with a decanter of bourbon, a cinnamon stick drifting in the amber. Next to it was a beautifully carved case of pipe weed, with several simple pipes of various sizes held into the top of the case with tiny leather straps. 

After they'd left Alivast, Nell had indicated that she designed this tower specifically for traveling in groups. The tower was not a mansion, by any means, but it was certainly more comfortable than sleeping outside. She made the most of what the spell could offer. And she had also attempted some experimental elements that she was eager for them to try. 

When giving them an initial tour, the hummingbird kenku had shown them five small, wooden saucers. Each saucer was engraved with a few simple runes. And as she demonstrated, one need only brush their finger over the runes and the conjuration magic would be activated. Each saucer could conjure a single type of fruit until the runes were worn away. 

In her demonstration, the little saucer’s rune glowed and then a large, fist-sized orange appeared, sitting on the little saucer. She removed it, cut a triangle out of the peel with her dagger and gave the citrus fruit to their resident warchief to try. "If you would like, Borky--" 

And then, of course, the orc immediately just bit into it, peel and all. “You know, the outside is kinda chewy and dense but the inside! Juicy! Inside is great!” The orc spit chunks of peel into his elbow.

Greckles just shook his head with a crooked smile at Nell's bemused expression.

"Checks out," Panic said. "Isn't the peel the healthiest part?"

"Is that true?" Borky asked, grimacing at the peel suspiciously.

"It is," Remy answered, matter-of-factly.

The other saucers produced a single dark cherry, a watermelon, a strawberry and a plum. Task took the watermelon from Borky before he broke his tusks on it and made the orc watch while he carved it open. Like Task might slice open a corpse for dissection, he was precise and clean. The kobold pieced out the juicy, red flesh and handed a large slab to Borky, which the orc happily munched as they all climbed up the sloping ramp to the second floor. 

This was a small bathhouse. At night, they would be able to clean up in hot baths. That would be a nice change of pace. There were even sauna benches, venting for steam and stacks of thick towels.

The third floor was an observatory, which included a small telescope and navigational star charts. Halfway up the wall the materials changed from stone and wood to sparkling, clear glass on every side, allowing a full view of their immediate area around the tower.

“Here,” Nell said, “if anyone wishes to keep a watch or simply cannot sleep, you might keep warm. Though, for sake of your privacy downstairs, I have set up a cot here for myself.” She gestured to a curtain hung in front of a reading nook that hid a small nest of cushions and blankets. “The couches downstairs are very comfortable and I think you will enjoy them, depending on how accustomed you are to the hard ground.” 

“Are the scrolls you gave us the same as this?” Greckles asked, gesturing around him.

“No, actually the scrolls I gave you have four floors. Those were more geared for general use if, for some reason, I were not able to cast the spell myself. So it includes a proper kitchen.”

“Look, guys, we gotta get some of these. This would be _so_ much easier to travel with,” Panic urged them.

Remy chuckled. Borky nodded, a watermelon seed stuck to his tusks. “I have to say, lads, I’m with Panic. I want more of those magic bowls too. Can I get one of those that makes bacon?”

Nell laughed. “I can work on that. Shall I carve a bowl for you?”

“I mean, you could,” Borky allowed, “but I’ll be honest, it could be a plate or maybe a big bowl." Borky made a big circle with his arms. "I’m not picky, really.”

“Does this tower have any defenses?” Remy asked, examining the stonework.

“The tower cannot be scryed upon and the door will not open to the outside unless one of us opens it. If something does get inside—ah!” Her green eyes lit up as if she’d just recalled something. “I’ll show you.” 

She led them back to the first floor to where everyone’s gear was stacked to one side of the front door. On the other side was a nondescript, sturdy trunk that looked as though it might store more blankets. The others watched the green-feathered kenku go to this trunk, clap her hands and call out: “Stanley! Defend the tower!” 

The trunk rumbled, shook and suddenly came to life. It thumped across the tile on hundreds of tiny crab-like legs and spun around to gaze at them. When the trunk lid opened, they could all see rows of sharp teeth. But, almost like a dog, the trunk seemed to smile with its terrifying lid contents and then positioned itself in front of the door. 

“Oh shit,” Task said, no doubt voicing some of the thoughts currently running through those around him. “Is that a mimic?”

“Yes. His name is Stanley and he will basically try to eat anything that isn’t supposed to be here. _Defend the tower,_ is one of his activation phrases. The thought was to have something as a last line of defense, so I chose a mimic because of their ability to hide as plain objects.”

“Is all the furniture gonna have teeth like that?!” Borky demanded, stopping in creating a train of cherries on the table.

“No, Borky, just the trunk,” Panic told him. 

Nell turned to the trunk. “Stanley, greet the guests.”

The trunk whirled back around and scuttled over to Borky, showing its toothy smile. It made a point to hunker down in front of the orc’s knee like a huge wooden dog wanting to be pet.

“C’mon Borky. How is it any different from Tarusk?” Task said, reaching over and, somewhat awkwardly, patted the domed lid of the trunk. The mimic wiggled happily.

Borky looked sidelong at the ranger. “I mean, there’s a _list_ of things, Task.”

“He will not harm you,” Nell professed, gently touching Borky’s arm. “How he reacts is based on the caster of the spell. You are my guests, and my allies, so he will protect you to the death.”

“Wait…what if we fought each other?” Borky asked, looking thoughtful.

Nell fought a smile. “Then he would default to protecting the caster, in this case, myself, and I imagine you would be urged to settle it outside.”

Remy raised his eyebrows. “Yes, you would. Don’t fight indoors. We’re guests here.”

“I’m not!” Borky insisted, scooping up all the cherries he had made and holding them away from Stanley. “I was just curious! You know. About the _mechanics_ of it all.”

Nell folded her talons together and inclined her head to them. “Now, please, make yourselves comfortable. The baths always have hot water and there is plenty of food. I will go up to the observatory and round up some localized charts and maps for us.”

That was when Panic had stepped outside. By the time he stepped back in, Remy and Greckles appeared to have finished. The two were standing in front of the long wooden table in that first room. Nell was on the other side and had several sheets of paper spread across it. 

When the tiefling stepped towards the sidebar to get some pipe weed, Nell noticed him. “I hope everything is all right, Mister Grimtongue?”

Panic waved a hand. “I’m fine. And, seriously, you don’t have to call me that. Just Panic is perfect.”

Nell inclined her head to him again. “I apologize if the formality can be a bit off-putting at times.” 

"Nah, nah, I get it," Panic said, airily waving a hand in dismissal. "Professionalism or whatever."

“Not at all,” Remy spoke up, lifting a talon. “I was raised a similar way in Valithea.”

“Are there many kenku in Valithea? I have never been there and I’ve heard there was a war quite recently,” Nell inquired, looking up at Remy.

Greckles watched her study his friend. Nell had asked all of them polite questions during their travel today and seemed to enjoy the stories shared in return. 

She had continued to call each of them some title (Masters Borky and Task, Misters Birdman and Grimtongue, and just Captain for Remy) until they advised the translator, individually, that she could use their first names. Though that wasn't as odd to Greckles as it might have seemed to others, given where he'd grown up. Remy took it in stride, of course, letting his noble training take over. 

These were the first, more direct questions. _Well, I guess mages do ask a lot of questions._ He thought of clumsy, awkward, and utterly _brilliant_ Willow. _Wouldn't wanna be the guy to underestimate Willow either._

“More humans, naturally, but there are other kenku families. There might have been more before the war. Those of us who escaped are now refugees.”

Nell’s brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry, Remy. That must have been terrible. How old were you?”

Remy stiffened a little, somehow not expecting the follow-up question. “Ah, it was, now, about seven years ago. My father, Pandion, was the Captain of the Raven Knights of Valithea. He defended the city while the populace escaped.”

“Was he lost in the fighting?”

“Yes. His body was never recovered.” Remy could hear the practiced, stoic way he said it. “Such is the way of war.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she told him and lowered her gaze to the table. “War is terrible, inevitable and, often, it seems as though everyone loses.”

“What was your village like?” Greckles asked. “Were you a noble like Remy? See any war?”

Nell shook her head, absently tugging on her beak a little. “No, no. It was very small, very closed off. No one has left in many, many years. They were very tied to their traditions.”

“What made you leave?” Remy asked as, next to him, Panic pulled a chair out for himself and laid the case of pipe weed on the table. The bard opened it, examining the small selection with an approving smirk before opening up one of the little ceramic jars and packing his pipe. He scooted the case towards Greckles. 

Nell seemed to consider each of them in turn for a moment and then said, “The kenku of my village could only speak in mimicry. And, as I’m sure you’re both aware, kenku that are bound to mimicry have a very difficult time communicating effectively. I wished to be able to speak so I made a deal with the patron goddess of our village.”

“Oh, you’re a warlock?” Panic suggested, lighting the weed with a pinch of his fingertip.

“Yes, everyone in my village was capable of certain wizard spells that could be recalled and taught through mimicry. For them, it was order. For me, it was a prison. But when I became a warlock, I was freed from all that. The only thing I asked for was a voice and that was the one thing we were never supposed to ask for. The elders considered their mimicry to be sacred. The Words Passed Down to us, supposedly.”

“Who was their patron?” Greckles asked, scanning his knowledge of isolated kenku villages. 

“They prayed to the Raven Queen. They believed that kenku first learned to speak from her but over time, they forgot. So according to them, the phrases we Passed Down in mimicry were remnants allowed to us by the Raven Queen." Nell was already shaking her head to herself before she went on:

"But it was mostly just used to control all of us. If you can’t speak, it’s very difficult to simply leave. It functioned more like a cult. I don’t know what you might know about the heritage of kenku but there’s no evidence I’ve ever seen that connects the Raven Queen to kenku, at all. But religions don’t tend to function on logic.”

The door at the top of the second floor ramp opened up and Borky and Task headed down. Steam clung to them both, puffing off their clean skin. 

“When you say the Raven Queen _gave_ you a voice….” Remy started, peering at the kenku.

“Ah, yes, when I made my pact with the Raven Queen, I asked for a voice. This voice,” she gestured to her long beak, to indicate her lilt accent, “is the one the Raven Queen gave to me. In exchange for this gift, she requires that I travel the lands and find interesting things. The Raven Queen is a collector of memories, including languages and cultures. The person who once owned this voice, knew four languages: Common, Infernal, Dwarven and Orcish. And so she also gifted those languages to me.”

“Ah, you cheated,” Task said, smiling a little as he and Borky joined them. The kobold grabbed a platter of sliced meats and cheese and placed it in the middle of the table.

“Indeed,” she laughed a little. “I don’t deny that. And I’m thankful for it. Languages can be very difficult to learn. I knew no Common at all before that, only Avian and Elven. Even now, I sometimes have to pause and translate in my head.”

“So can you still use your mimicry?” Greckles asked. 

“Generally, I cannot use my mimicry in the same way,” Nell explained. “I believe it helps me in recreating the accents of languages but generally, I cannot use it as you do.”

“Do you find it easier to learn new languages now?” Greckles poured himself an ale and settled into into a chair like the others. His sharp eyes flickered over the maps and star charts Nell had brought down from the observatory.

“Yes, thankfully.” Nell opened up a pill bottle-shaped leather pocket at her side and removed what appeared to be a small bell. A gnome would find it comfortable between their fingertips. The warlock had to hold it much more carefully, dark talons curling around the handle. “The Raven Queen felt fit to give me three gifts when we made our pact. The first was a voice and the languages I received with it. The second was this bell.”

Nell placed it on the table so they all could inspect it. It was shiny and black as obsidian, marked with tiny silver stars. The handle was dark, smooth ebony. Panic leaned in like he might _hear_ the minute hum of magic in the bell. A quick flex of his own will and the bard _detected_ upon it. The tiefling could sense divination and necromancy. Almost like a flash of awareness between life and death....

“The Raven Queen impressed upon me that when I come upon a creature who may die, I should ring this bell. If they die, and they know a language that I do not, then there is a chance that I may then be granted an understanding of the language based on their memories. That is how I learned Goblin and Undercommon. But if I wish to learn additional, specific languages, I must study them myself.” 

Nell picked up the little bell and turned it over. “Inside, there is a clapper but it doesn't chime. When I ring it, I hear nothing. But I imagine she must, perhaps, somewhere in the Shadowfell. And once or twice a year, she will take my voice away. I imagine so that I _remember_ what it is to be bound to only mimicry.”

Panic barked a laugh at that. “Shit. You know that would happen on some Worst Day Possible.”

“Absolutely likely, yes.” She nodded, laughing lightly as she took some weed for a long-stemmed, wooden pipe of her own.

“What was the third gift?” Task asked, inspecting the carved box and pouring himself an ale.

“Are there a lot of warlocks in Alivast?” Borky asked quietly, pulling more chairs up to the table and grabbing the decanters of wine and mead. He placed them on the table in front of Panic, and took an instinctive survey of the room.

There were windows dressed in indigo blue and gold curtains by the door and on the back wall framing the fireplace, allowing the orc to see the trees behind the tower. Out back, Panic had created a hut for the lizardhounds and Volo. The front windows showed the flatlands, battered by wind and stretched wide until blocked by towering clouds in the distance.

Panic nodded his thanks to the orc and poured himself some mulled wine. The routine of settling in for the night during their travels was much the same as this, though they were usually camping out in the chill air. This was cozy, dry and comfortable, like nights they spent at the Sweet Dragon with excellent food and conversation. And no one would have to stay awake and keep watch. 

Panic considered Borky’s question. “I think there are a few. Enrobso is. He could do creepy shit too.” The bard got a little chill when he thought of those wisping shadows, creeping in to still a bell that should have chimed at his lie. “But there’s not a lot of them. Some people get kinda spooked by them.”

Nell touched the weapons at her hip. “Ah, the third was simply my pact weapon. My short sword and dagger are just normal gear. My actual pact weapon is a bladed spear. But I typically do not have it out unless I am being attacked.”

“Wow,” Greckles mused. “So you could just hunt around for people who might speak a language you don’t know.”

“I…could,” she agreed, with a solemn nod, “but that is not something I would want to do needlessly.”

“Are you afraid of combat?” Task asked, not sounding accusatory at all, simply measuring. 

“No, but I typically travel alone. So it is better for me to pick my battles carefully, if at all possible. Just in case.” 

“Makes sense.” Panic stood up with his wine. “All right, I’m gonna go have a bath. Try not to die without me. Oh, this too.” He scooped up his freshly-packed pipe as well.

“Were you able to speak to Hellina?” Remy asked.

Panic’s shoulders just barely stiffened. “Nah, she was busy.” The tiefling didn’t skip a beat, waving his pipe in dismissal as he headed over to the ramp. 

Borky and Remy both followed the bard with their eyes before he disappeared into the baths. 

“So our researcher is actually a specialist when it comes to anything to do with orcs,” Task went on, shifting that smaller, more focused map, to the top of the stack. “Orcs don’t typically make a lot of maps so he was pretty interested in it and gave me some notes on it. What I’m curious about is: why did a druid of a far-flung village like yours, have these maps?”

Nell shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I did. When I got them, I initially thought they were of three separate locations. I came to Alivast because the Raven Queen would want me to collect memories here. It wasn’t until I saw the first official maps at the port that I remembered the elven map. Then I noticed the lake that doesn’t seem to exist on the modern maps and, of course, those very distinct names. But, like the others of my village, our druid was bound to mimicry and could not, or would not, tell me much about how even she came to have them.” 

“Hmm,” Greckles mused, rubbing his beak. Task eyed the maps again but the rogue looked up and examined Nell. Her expression was interested and open. She appeared to be telling the truth, no signs of trickery. She watched each of them in turn and did not shy away from eye contact. 

“I said fey magic because it seems the most likely but I can only speculate without knowing more. There could also be dragons, perhaps undead. But the elven name, _Trail of Stars,_ is what makes me lean towards something else. Fey or planar magic. Whichever it be, my Lady would want me to see it for myself.”

Remy also peered at Nell but he saw no hint of a lie. Her expression seemed very neutral, inquisitive, but he didn’t detect any deception from her. “The timing, you understand, is a bit strange,” he finally said. “I believe we just recently learned that we ought to be on the lookout for information about Alivast’s history within the last four hundred years.”

Task’s and Borky’s heads came up as one to look at Remy and Greckles, then at the warlock. 

Nell examined the four of them in return. She saw no anger, no hate, just the guardedness that she found existed in most all warriors. So she sat with her back straight and her expression open. “If any of you have _Zone of Truth,_ I will gladly submit to questioning. I find it interesting that you were told such a thing. Though, I might point out, that many historians have come to explore this new continent.”

Greckles stood up. “No, it’s not that.” The kenku leaned over the maps and examined those names again: _Trail of Stars, Wyld Gate, Gate of Tricks._ “In the city of Alivast, underneath our tavern, we found some sort of…gate. But it looked dwarven in design. It was huge too. Buried deep underneath the city.”

Nell’s eyes widened, leaning over the table and betraying her eager curiosity. “Dwarven! That’s extraordinary! Are you going to excavate?”

“That is the plan,” Greckles nodded. 

The hummingbird sat back in her chair, seeming rather stunned as she absorbed this information. Absently, she touched the edge of her beak like a humanoid might scratch their neck or comb fingers through their hair. “That’s amazing. There could be all kinds of things down there.”

“Some dangerous things,” Greckles agreed, scanning the expressions of everyone in the room. “But yeah, we’re going to arrange for an excavation. Alivast is pretty interested in finding out what was here before the nomads and orc settlements.”

“Well, it is fortunate then,” Nell told him, sitting up straight again. “So this might benefit all of us. That’s perfect. I wonder if these locations will be connected in some way? Mmm, I should not get ahead of myself.” 

Stanley sidled up to Borky, loudly shouldering Panic’s empty chair away and sitting next to the orc. The lid opened, a large tongue came out and licked Borky’s palm. The barbarian stiffened, slowly looking down and shuddering at Stanley before ultimately reaching out and patting its lid.

Task smirked down at Stanley. “I think he likes you, Borky.”

“Look, I, hmm, see, you know, I’m not _afraid_ of him.”

“Of Stanley,” Task reminded him.

Borky grimaced. “Not afraid of Stanley. Yeah.”

At its name, Stanley perked, pointed teeth sparkling as it smiled up at Borky.

The orc considered the mimic. “Aaahhh, well. Maybe he’s all right. It’s more that I don’t want to have terrible dreams of all my furniture coming to life and trying to kill me, Task!”

“Uh huh, right, right,” Task agreed, still smirking. “Like Waffles, Borky. It’s just like Waffles.”

Remy tapped the table. “Perhaps, if progress has been made by the time we return, they might be able to let you see it.” The warrior nodded to indicate the rest of the room but seemed thoughtful for a moment. 

“What’s wrong, Remy? I can see your mind turning,” Greckles told him.

Remy opened his beak to speak and then seemed to hesitate. “I’m just thinking, going over the details again, Greckles.” Specifically, that bit about the Raven Queen. He had heard that name before. Not that it made any kind of difference. Perhaps, it was simply coincidence. The falcon let his eyes scan the room. Nothing much seemed to happen to the Unexpectables by accident.

“Eh, it’s been a long day,” Task told them all. “Let’s get some rest, we can talk more on the road tomorrow.”  
-  
-  
-  
-


	5. Camaraderie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hags I chose: https://www.dndbeyond.com/monsters/bheur-hag  
> Music: Woods of Winterdeep: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DapRolrMMqE
> 
> Also, Borky suplexes a giant.  
> \----------------
> 
> The rogue pushed himself up from the snow just as Remy reached him. “I’ve got him!” The fighter called, putting an arm around Greckles and lifting him to his feet. 
> 
> “I’m all right,” Greckles managed, shaking snow out of his feathers and touching his beak. “Oof, might be concussed, haha. Trees are hard.”  
> \----------------

Remy stared up at the sparkling white Valithean towers that crowned the capital’s royal palace. They were shadowed in the sunlight, enveloped by black smoke and flames. The sirens were screaming from their giant stone pillars in the city’s main square. Evacuation orders had been issued, everyone around Remy was trying to flee.

Soldiers were flooding in from the south gate, slaughtering their way towards the northeast, to the palace. Shrieks of the civilians filled up the air. It all felt surreal. Horrific and surreal. Remy could smell the blood but all the sound around him seemed to have slowed down. Guards were running everywhere, trying to help people out of burning homes, struggling to defend the civilians from the Eltmer onslaught. 

Others were fleeing towards the docks, trying to escape or hide in boats. 

Three spearmen in Eltmer colors were racing towards him and for just a moment, he could breathe again. Remy’s sword gleamed, shining as it materialized in his hand. The crackle of magic built up in his other palm and Remy could _taste_ the metallic charge before it burst into the spearmen, throwing them back. One was unfortunate enough to be hit in the throat and it ripped his head off like a spinning top. Remy sprinted up to the second man, struggling to stand, a sharp thrust to the throat and blood spurted onto the cobblestone. It was glossy, hot orange in the smoky morning sunlight.

The third tried to rush him through the haze but the knight was too quick. Remy dodged the spear and got in close. The soldier had no eyes that Remy could register. He just grabbed the hair and slashed a throat. Blood coated the front of the spearman’s armor. The kenku threw the soldier from himself. 

“Hold the inner wall!” The voice cracked loud over the chaos.

Remy could see his father far ahead of him on the street. He was a tall kenku, plated in armor that glowed gold in the unnatural light and smoke. A band of flaming arrows slammed into the surrounding shops. 

_”Father!”_ Remy tried to scream, tried to run towards the warrior, but everything inside of him suddenly felt heavy. He felt so slow. Remy kept trying to run forward but it was like being trapped in wood, in molasses. 

The door to their house burst open and his mother’s voice lanced into his thoughts, like shears to paper: “Remy—? _Remus! No! NO!”_

Remy felt his mother grab onto him, pull his armor around. “Remy, _no!_ We have to go!”

“Remy!” His brother, Lucio, still wearing his blacksmith apron, came out of the house with their sister, Aria, tucking her close to him. “You can’t!”

“Remy, we have to go!” Aria shouted it at him. And then those still in the street screamed when the bell tower was struck. The stone seemed to burst apart, shooting fragments and shards across the square and over the cobblestones. The heavy bronze bell smashed a jeweler’s stall, crushing the terrified horse attached to it.

Remy grabbed his mother, stumbling with her to the wall of an alchemy shop and protecting her head. Lucio and Aria were holding each other, ducking under the porch of the house. A bout of fire exploded over the rooftops, the smell of magic tearing apart flesh was billowing in thick from the south. 

“Remus!” His mother grabbed him by the beak and forced his eyes down to her. “We have to _go!”_

“Father is still in the—!”

“Your father gave us _an order!”_

For just a moment, there was no sound and Remy took in his mother’s face. She was determined, fierce, and strong and her eyes were thick and angry with her own tears. That was what brought him back. No matter what pain Remy was in, his mother had to feel it ten times over. She could not go help his father because she had to protect them. Captain Corbeau had _ordered_ it. And his mother trusted him. He was captain of the Raven Knights to the king. They all trusted him. 

Remy looked behind him, to the city’s formerly-pristine palace square and then screwed his eyes shut.

“I know, Remy,” Olivia told him, voice shaking with emotion. “I know. But you have more battles to win. You can’t die today.” She started to pull him towards his siblings. 

Remy put an arm round her and went swiftly, moving as a group to get to their wagon. Lucio hitched the horses while Remy and Aria got their mother and everything they’d been able to grab into the cart. A few trunks with linens and gear, some food and clothing, Lucio’s tools and some of their family’s books. 

Suddenly, a shadow dimmed the orange smoke. 

Everything slowed down again as Remy, his mother, Aria and Lucio all looked up. The street fell silent as everyone gazed up. 

A dragon stared down at them, flapping its mighty wings and sending smoke and debris cascading down the street towards the square. It was covered in thick, jagged scales. Its eyes were glowing, hateful and red. When the mouth opened it was like a doorway into a fiery pit. 

_No, no, this isn’t right…._

_(“Remy?”)_

The knight grabbed for his mother, scrambling to reach Aria and Lucio, trying to pull them together. The dragon was dark, not the Silver King. Something else. The monstrous dragon’s terrible mouth let out a shriek and fire bellowed into the smoke-choked air. If he could somehow protect—

_(“Remy!”)_

If he could somehow—

The fire hit him, searing his feathers black. His mother’s beak cracked, blood was everywhere around them, scattering in the air like a fine mist. Aria was screaming, tumbling into the wagon. Lucio fell to the cobblestones, writhing, and beating at the flames feasting on his plumage. Heat rose up in a blistering wave, the dragon reared again—

“Remy!”

The falcon kenku lunged up and a large hand snatched onto his arm. Remy instinctively tried to wrench back—

“Remy, hey, hey, hey!” It was Borky, outlined blearily in the light from the fireplace. The orc was watching him closely. “It’s jus’ me.”

“Borky,” Remy managed softly. _Right, we’re in the tower. Just a nightmare._ He was breathless and chilled, slightly lightheaded. The orc helped him sit up on the couch. “Apologies. I was…it was…just a dream.”

“Saw that, enough of us have ‘em,” Borky said, pouring two mugs from an urn of hot, spiced mead. “Stanley woke me up, actually.”

“What?” Remy started on a small laugh as he accepted the stein of comforting wine and breathed in the scent.

“He did,” Borky insisted and turned behind him to pet the tower guardian. The mimic was shifting a little on its many legs, as if trying to get a better look at Remy. “I guess Stanley’s all right, you know.”

Stanley’s maw turned upwards and he wiggled happily. 

“Thank you, Stanley,” Remy managed, polite, with a hint of a smile. And then, reflexively, he examined the room. Task had taken the cushions off his couch and made himself a nest of quilts as close to the hearth as he could without catching the cushions on fire. Remy could just see the tip of his snout that was exposed to air. 

Greckles was on the other side of the fireplace but still on his couch, curled up with his matte black beak poking out of the quilts. Farthest back in the horseshoe of furniture, Panic had chosen a huge armchair of stuffed leather and had a single blanket covering him from the waist down. The bard’s pipe and a mug of wine were sitting on a small side table next to him. Remy and Borky’s respective couches were across from one another. Luckily, it seemed only the two of them were awake. 

Borky pointed at the door and Remy nodded. So the two of them went out the front. Stanley skittered after them and when both took a seat at the little porch table, the mimic settled down in front of the door. The stars were endless out on the dark plains. 

“Borky,” Remy murmured, gazing up at the studded sky and the moon, waxing its way to full. “Do you believe in fate? Destiny?”

Borky raised his eyebrows at him. “Hmmm,” the orc considered, stroking his square jawline. “You know, before all this happened I woulda said no way but….you know, Task’s arm can turn white now. And…Panic has a magical guitar. And now Greckles is seein’ visions and shit. So, I dunno. Maybe? Or maybe we’s just in the wrong place at the right time.” He shrugged. 

Remy looked into his wine, illuminated by the torch at the door. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Not really,” Borky agreed, producing two full sausage links from his pocket. He offered one to the kenku. “Shit still needs to get done.”

“Ah, no thank you, Borky.” Remy politely shook his head and raised a talon. “I agree. Things need to be done, regardless. Watching all of you endure these strange adventures, Lys’ mask, the Silver King…it seems rather extraordinary at times. Too extraordinary to end well.”

“Uh huh!” Borky said, sounding smug. “This is why you need us, Remy. Otherwise you get too stuck in yer head.”

Remy scowled a little. “On things that don’t matter, correct?”

Borky shrugged again. “Not to me. Maybe to you. Not much choice, is there? You either choose to do it, or you go home.”

Remy glared down at his wine, flashing again through that memory. That last glimpse of his father before they fled. 

“Hey, Stanley,” Borky said, offering out half of a sausage to the mimic. He immediately perked up by the door and scuttled over to Borky. “Right, good boy. Open?”

Stanley quivered and then seemed to understand, throwing his horrifying mouth all the way back on the trunk hinges.

“Yah, you are terrifying, Stanley!” Borky cheered and dropped the sausage in. Stanley’s giant purple tongue licked his hinges and then the whole lid snapped shut.

Remy watched his friend with the mimic, breathing in the spices of the simmered wine. _All we can do in this moment, is be. We can’t change the past and we can never truly know the future. Even if I knew it was fate, I would still act as if I didn’t. To be prepared. To not just trust in some idea of blind faith. I could never just go home now._

This is why Remy liked Borky. He could make things simpler sometimes. 

Nell had no steed of her own and so they had agreed that she might ride with one of them per day. The first day, she had ridden behind Task, making sure to first greet Evahi. Nell was careful not to inhibit Task’s movement and kept a lookout around them. 

The second morning, Borky introduced her to Green. Nell offered her hands for Green to sniff, as she’d done with Evahi, made eye contact with Green and then bowed her head to the lizardhound. Then Nell followed the orc.

“You can ride in front if you want,” Borky told her. “I’m a little taller than Task.”

So the kenku hopped up onto the lizardhound and secured herself there while everyone else mounted. Remy touched beaks with Volo before mounting and leaning in when the gryphon took off into the air. Nell watched the gryphon, following it up into the sky with her eyes. 

Borky climbed on behind the translator and took the lead. “Right, then, hang on! Off we go!” Green shot forward, Nell gasped a little and gripped onto the handholds more tightly. “Green is the biggest and the only girl! So she likes to go in front! Like me!” Borky whooped. 

“Does Remy scout for you, then?” Nell asked as they lurched over the dusty earth.

“Yeah! He’s got sharp eyes. He’s a good bird,” Borky answered. “Plus Volo, flying and all.”

“Task indicated that when we are close enough to the ruins, he would like me to ride with Remy that day. I am looking forward to it. I’ve never ridden on a gryphon before. I’ve never even seen one so close. The only ones I ever saw were wild and were far up in the mountains. I could hear them when they went out to hunt.”

“Just give Volo a snack, then he’ll love you. Just like these,” Borky advised, patting Green on the flank. 

Remy and Volo were a dot above the plains, only coming down around lunchtime when they stopped to take a break. Borky took out _Torrin’s Jug,_ to which Nell had taught him the three commands. The orc took it to all the lizardhounds and said, “Bottoms up!”

Clean, pure water flooded up from the bottom of the jug, filling it to the brim. Borky examined it, sniffed the water, dipped a finger in it to taste and nodded before he said the second command, “Make it a double!”

The water gushed out of the jug, replicating swiftly and creating a large pool on the ground. The lizardhounds and Volo all came to drink and everyone refilled water skins. 

Greckles had the screwdriver and the climbing cloak. Panic had taken the anti-scrying ring. Remy held onto the _Revivify_ scroll and the Banishing whip. And Borky was excited to experiment with his new jug. 

Task had taken the flight ring but he came forward to examine the jug too. “It must be a kind of _Create Water_ spell that cleans it out. That’s useful.”

“It is,” Borky agreed. “You know what else though?” And before Task could utter an answer, Borky said the third command phrase, “Last Call.”

Water blasted out of the top of the jug, clobbering Task in the snout with a geyser shot. Greckles and Panic burst out laughing. Task dropped the jug, eyes screwed shut and blinded. He reached for his bow.

“Now, Task, there’s no need for that,” Borky started.

Task listened to Borky’s voice for half a second before he whipped the bow around, drawing an arrow and aiming directly at the orc. “I swear to any and all gods, Borky.”

“I just wanted to test it!”

“There’s food over here!” Remy called from the cooking fire. “If you want any, best come now.”

“Oh, you heard him, best get to it!” Borky said and he whirled around to race to the fire.

Task cracked an eye and lowered his bow, smirking. He picked up the jug and took it over. “That’s a pretty good trick, no lie there. I can’t wait for you to try that on Helga.”

Borky chortled. “Oooohhh, heh, heh. You think I should?”

Task _smiled_ at him. “Yeah, Borky. Don’t tell her first, though. Let it be a surprise.”

“Hmmm,” Borky considered, looking tempted, “that seems dangerous.”

“I mean, you’re a warchief, right?” Task told him. “No man alive scares you, Borky.”

Borky looked like if he had a collar, he'd be tugging on it uncomfortably. But then, he _was_ an orc. “Yeah! O-of course!” 

The rest of the day and the two that followed, proceeded without incident. The fourth night, the plains were turning into scrubland and then coastal sand and rock as they stopped for the night. Nell erected the tower again. It was snowing lightly as night fell, sparkling like glitter in the starlight. Panic went around to the backside and set up his _Tiny Hut_ for the mounts and Nell volunteered to help gather food for them. 

Panic noted how the translator seemed to greatly enjoy the lizardhounds, happy to interact with them and bring them food and snacks. She talked to each of them, treating them like massive dogs, though she didn’t have the spells to talk to animals directly. Nell seemed more careful about Volo, out of respect for the loyal bond gryphons were said to have with their riders. But Remy was happy to introduce her to his partner-in-flight, of course. 

The tiefling leaned against the entrance to the Tiny Hut, watching as Judas trundled in to claim a spot close to the hearth after getting sufficient petting and attention from Panic. 

Remy gave Nell a fish and she offered it out to Volo. The gryphon was happy to gobble it down, of course, and then he snuffled curiously at this other kenku. 

“I’m looking forward to riding with you tomorrow, Volo,” she told the beast, petting and scratching at his feathers and fur. 

“It’s still impressive for me, exhilarating,” Remy told her, stroking Volo’s throat and absently checking his ears. “It never gets old.”

Panic watched Nell allow a small, surreptitious smile up at Remy as he tended to the gryphon. She seemed thoughtful, studying the taller kenku, until the the knight spoke again: “Speaking of old, I wondered what books you might have in your small library?”

That made Nell shift back into academic mode, expression instantly becoming neutral again. “Hmmm, some language books, spell books, history, cartography, enchanting but not very many. It’s sort of a basic array. Is there something particular that you are looking for?”

“History, you said,” Remy repeated. “Do you have anything about Valithea?”

Nell looked up at Remy again, meeting his eyes when she said, “I do. I only have two volumes here though, both of which I read in Tracadia. One is pre-war history. But the other is a short account of what happened immediately after the initial sacking of the capital and then the takeover by the Silver King.”

Something in Remy’s face changed. “May I borrow both of them?”

“Of course, Captain—Remy, sorry. I’ll go get them from the observatory.” And Nell immediately bowed her head to both Remy and Volo and went to the tower. Stanley greeted her eagerly at the door. 

Remy got Volo into the Tiny Hut with their food and water and Panic swaggered in next to him as they started towards the tower. “Hey, Rem, everything all right?”

“Of course,” the kenku answered, pulling his gloves off as they stepped inside. “Spoken to Hellina yet?”

Panic grimaced at him and didn’t answer. Instead, he greeted Stanley like one might a friendly dog. Greckles was stretching in front of the large fireplace and flopping back onto a couch. They were all tired, stiff, and cold. Task was pulling spiced wine to himself, placing his bow on the table for a moment while he warmed his fingers. 

Borky was just coming back down the ramp, a hunk of bread in one hand and a stein of mead in the other. “We got another floor this time,” the orc informed them. “It’s got a kitchen and a pot with stew. Hot food tonight! And _so_ much bacon!” 

“Food coma sort of night then?” Greckles asked, sounding hopeful. 

“Yes, eat everything,” Task agreed with a shrug. “It’s all free and it’s here. So might as well. We don’t know if there will be space or ability to use this spell if we end up having to go underground for any length of time.”

Borky grinned. “A few steps ahead of you, Task.” The orc bit down on the bread to hold it and pulled a turkey leg out of his pocket. 

“Does it have anything raw?” Task replied, moving his gear over to the tile before heading up the ramp.

Nell was just coming down, lightly sidestepping the two and going to Remy with the books in tow. “I hope they might be able to offer you something.” 

The fighter nodded gravely to her. “Thank you, Nell.”

“This one,” Nell said, clearing her throat a little and tapping her talon against a thick tome of records, bound in blue leather, “came from a Valithean port town called Saltcrown.” She opened the book and showed Remy the inside cover where there was a lovely painted crest and signature in iridescent, shell-like, purple ink. 

“This is the headmaster’s stamp from a boarding and sailing school that was there. So it was presumed to be a collection of local history, records of births and deaths, and some overviews about the kingdom itself, the governance, the military and the Raven Knights and, of course, the royal family. It also includes some trade documents between the port and the capital because this book was brought from Valithea after the invasion, and was compiled with other resources by refugees in Tracadia.”

Remy gently took the book from her, studying the blue leather, carved with a ship sailing on a whorl of waves, and silver clasp, decorated with three opals. 

“The second book was also compiled in Tracadia by refugees, including a Valithean diplomat who was traveling outside the country when the invasion began. It describes the immediate known aftermath of the destruction and the subsequent slaughter of the Eltmer by the Silver King and the takeover of the country.” Nell offered the second volume, slender and bound in simple brown leather. 

Remy took it. “You have my thanks, Nell.”

“Anything in my library is open to any of you,” she urged again, inclining her head to them. “If I have read something on the subject before, then I am able to direct it into the spell as a magical fabrication.”

That night, Nell stayed downstairs with them a little longer than she normally did. The mage did not presume to consider herself one of them and so she tended to leave them in privacy after the dinner meal. 

But on this night, Task had said, “Hey, you’re studying Draconic, right? What have you got in maps? You seem like you’re a cartographer, at least part-time. Maybe I can help by translating a map for you into Draconic.”

To the kobold’s surprise (he was still so shocked every time someone responded positively to him), Nell brightened again. She instantly switched to Draconic. It was quite basic and broken but she was able to communicate with him. **”I like that idea very much.”**

And with that, the warlock had zipped up the ramps to gather what appeared to be her own traveling library of maps. Some were kept in carefully capped scroll cases. Others were meticulously folded with lambskin and magic. Nell was quite eager to discuss something she was clearly so interested in. And getting the opportunity to practice with a native Draconic speaker seemed to please her.

Panic laughed, packing his pipe as he watched them. “You nerds. I love it.”

The next morning, they all stretched and ate a full breakfast before heading out. Nell followed Remy to Volo and greeted the gryphon as she had greeted the lizardhounds. Remy helped her on and made sure she was secured before mounting behind her. 

“All right, hang on,” Remy advised and patted Volo. The gryphon’s wings came out and he took a few steps back before jumping into the air. Instinctively, Nell latched onto Volo’s harness, so Remy put a steadying hand on her arm. “It’s all right. He won’t let you fall.”

As they rose, Remy felt Nell relax, little by little and then heard her take a gasp when the land stretched out endlessly beneath them. She leaned back into Remy, quite unconsciously, he noticed, before she straightened up to look all around them. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Magnificent,” she said quietly, eyes still roaming the glittering fields of snow around them, like diamonds scattered across the land. She sounded a little breathless, which Remy could understand. Most people were, their first time up in the air. “I can’t believe you get to do this every day.”

“I do, thanks to the Unexpectables.”

Nell looked up at him, seeming to search his expression and then smiled a little. “Amazing,” she said, softly, and looked back out over the land. “They seem wonderful.”

Remy looked down at the ground, where he could see four lizardhound dots running along beneath them. “…..they are.”

At lunchtime, Nell’s legs wobbled when Remy landed again. The knight steadied her with a hand and a smile. “You’ll get your flying legs soon enough. How do you feel?”

Her face was bright with excitement, far from the neutral reserve she attempted to keep most of the time. The hummingbird kenku laughed gaily, allowing Remy to take her to a rock to sit on. “Oh, I’m fine, no, but you! You are fantastic—that—Volo!” Nell cried out, opening her arms to the gryphon and eagerly petting him. “You are wonderful, Volo! Surely, you are a lord among your kind!”

Volo chirped, tilting his head.

But while they rested, the sun was chased away by clouds, and the cold began to creep in. 

Before leaving Alivast, Task and Remy had set about collecting what they might need in terms of gear and materials, in case they had to go cave jumping in frigid water. They’d definitely packed all the cold weather gear, climbing gear, explosives, and spell scrolls from Willow. 

So they all stuffed themselves into Nine’s winter wonders and got out riding blankets for the lizardhounds. Nell had a thicker cloak of black quilt, embroidered with gold-yellow thread and lined with black bear fur. When she and Remy saddled up again, he took out a thick riding blanket that hooked cleverly onto Volo’s harnesses. It was big enough to swamp them in a nest that also gave some cover to the gryphon, who bravely swept up into the crisp, cold air.

For five hours, they all sped onward, as snow was beginning to gather again the farther north they went. It was nearly dusk and the wind was rising when Nell suddenly perked, pulling her arm out from under the huge, warm blanket and pointed ahead of them, to the east, where a shadowy smudge of purple obscured the horizon. With her other hand, she touched Remy’s arm under the blanket and cast a message: _“That looks like a canyon. On modern maps, there is one, much larger than the original lake but that might be where the lake used to exist.”_

_“Shoot a message to Panic, will you? We’ll veer north.”_ He should really learn _Message,_ it was such a handy spell. Otherwise, Remy would have had to shout to be heard. He couldn’t help but grab onto her cloak when the warlock leaned over Volo’s side and pointed towards the earth.

Far below, Greckles and Task were in the lead. Borky kept his eyes moving around them. This place had a strange sort of feeling to it that the orc couldn’t quite put his finger on. A coldness that was somehow more than the weather. The falling snow had been sparkling and beautiful while the sun was up. But as everything darkened around them, he began to feel more boxed in. 

“Hey,” Panic called out. “Remy says they’re going to veer about 40 degrees to the north. The canyon is in sight.”

Greckles examined the sky but it was almost impossible to see the gryphon in the snow. 

“I think Remy should land soon,” Task advised. “Probably not good flying weather for Volo. It’s going to get darker even sooner with the snow.”

Suddenly, Green made a snarling hiss, lunging ahead of Evahi and Hanzaki and bristling protectively in front of them. Borky took the hint and immediately jumped off of her, brandishing his massive sword. At the same moment, something _screamed,_ utterly shattering the sound of snow and silence. 

“Somethin’s ahead of us!” Borky sang out.

Panic pointed up at Remy to cast a message: _”Hey, we’ve got incoming!”_

A sparkling blue beam came firing out of the fir trees. Borky ducked and it flew harmlessly over his head. The orc brandished Raunfalt. “Hey! You missed! Come out so I can have a turn!”

The scream arced above them, others joined it. Task leapt nimbly off Evahi, peering into the dark for the source of the spell. Five beams lit up the faint evening light. The kobold swiftly dodged and Evahi hissed. Greckles was hit in the back as he scrambled off Hanzaki, throwing him into the snow. Panic felt one hit his shoulder, spinning him in a full circle. It was like being dipped in ice. The utter awfulness of the cold as it seeped in. The tiefling staggered into Greckles and they helped each other stand up. 

And then four bright balls of light came streaking down from the sky but in the direction the beams had come from. They both recognized the _Dancing Lights_ spell. The dazzling, harmless orbs illuminated the entire area in stark light, shadowing the fir trees like ominous pillars.

And for just a flash, Panic saw one of their assailants on the ground. “Oh, gotcha, asshole!” He threw his hand up to cast _Faerie Fire_ and the creature was lit up in red light. 

A mistake, in a way, as it was some sort of horrible-looking hag. The long, bony fingers, the flying staff, arms that had to be almost twice as long as the legs. The hag’s pulsing red light now cast shadows over three others that appeared to be hiding among the trees. One of them threw her hands up and sent ice shards flashing up into the air. 

“Oh shit—!” Panic started.

“REMY!” Greckles shouted. 

But a firebolt suddenly blasted back, smashing the ice shard off course as Remy came flying about ten feet over their heads. Nell’s hands were alight with magic. Two more shots fired at Volo from up in the trees. So Remy grabbed Nell around the waist and dove off, allowing the gryphon to shoot straight up into the sky and out of range. The knight landed on his back in the snow and, holding Nell to his chestplate, rolled over the translator to protect her from more shots. 

“Stay behind me!” He commanded as he hopped to his feet in front of her. There was a brilliant silver glow and Remy’s shining shield and longsword appeared in his grip.

Borky threw himself ahead of the others, bearing down on the hag that was glowing like a bonfire. Greckles shook himself and then vanished from Panic’s side, disappearing into the dark to follow Borky. Task scampered up onto Evahi again and aimed from his back. Panic heard the two arrows go streaking into the dark and _thmmp! thmmp!_ both struck one of the other hags. The resounding shriek was enough to curdle blood.

“All right, here we go!” Panic shouted and invoked his own magic. A shimmering layer of silver settling over the gear of his friends, a simple layer of shielding. And then a push of air pulled in their ears, as if time were slowing down.

Remy took advantage of it. He sprinted forward to help Borky. Nell followed him, taking out her little bell as she ran and ringing it, though no one heard any chime from it, of course. One of the hags screamed something in Giant, which only Remy and Borky heard and understood. 

“Now!” The hag screeched in Giant. “Do it, now!”

The earth underneath Borky erupted. The orc went flailing into the air and hit the ground, tangled in roots and struggling to get up. And then a giant lumbered out of the trees, swinging a club at the barbarian. At the same time, huge hailstones began raining down upon them. Some were the size of grapefruits, smashing and pummeling as they tried to reach their orc.

But swift, sly Greckles was suddenly there, flitting over a low tree branch, swinging down and grabbing the glowing hag by her hair. The rogue wrenched her backwards and slashed the hag’s throat. Instantly, she went rigid, struggling, but she bled out too quickly and Greckles kicked her to the dirt. The effect of Faerie Fire went out but Task was already shifting, catching the shadow of another hag that he could mark. He put two barbed arrows into her, knocking her right off her flying staff. She hissed and howled as her silver-blue skin cracked and seeped some inky, dark sludge onto the snow.

Panic stayed with Remy and Nell until he could throw out a _Shatter_ spell right on top of the giant. Remy went straight to Borky, helping protect the orc while he got to his feet. 

The hag Task had dislodged tried to run, allowing Remy to simply dive forward, skewering her in the back with his sword and bashing her to the snow with his shield. The third, still in the air, took two more arrows from Task. The stark light cast the six arrows now sticking out of her like flagposts, like a horrifying, spidery, flailing pincushion. The last shot took her through a burning blue eye and she crumpled from her staff, landing in the snow in a heap. 

“I am getting a little frustrated at being tossed around!” Borky growled and then he startled. Nell had her hand reached out to him and he was _growing:_ bigger and stronger and wider. “Oh, I like that!” He pointed Raunfalt at the giant. “C’mere!”

Greckles streaked through the shadows and up a tree with the climbing cloak. He slammed into the last hag from above, taking her to the ground and holding her face into the snow. In a flash, he drew Todd _(“Fuck you, Nick!”)_ and took the dagger, glinting, right into the hag’s leathery neck. 

The giant was all that remained, roaring at them, swinging his club at Greckles, which the poor kenku caught and it sent him flying into the trees. Task swore and fired his bow at the giant’s knees.

“Greckles!” Remy dashed in, stabbing at the giant’s meaty calf, flaying it open. 

Borky, mad as a badger and now nearly of height with the giant, stuck Raunfalt in the snow and roared: “I am _TRYING_ to HIT you! STAY STILL!” 

And with that, they all watched Borky grab the giant in a hug and heaved the creature over his head. It flew in a thick, heavy, silver arc in the rising moonlight and then smashed, face first, into the ground. The giant made a pitiful moaning sound. 

“Yes! Got a giant!” Borky roared, as he bounced up and then grabbed for his sword. 

Panic dodged forward at just that moment, stabbing precise and clean with his own blade, straight into the back of its throat, just to make sure. The giant gurgled hot blood into the snow, steaming as it died.

Task peered around. “I don’t see anything else! Greckles! You all right!”

The rogue pushed himself up from the snow just as Remy reached him. “I’ve got him!” The fighter called, putting an arm around Greckles and lifting him to his feet. 

“I’m all right,” Greckles managed, shaking snow out of his feathers and touching his beak. “Oof, might be concussed, haha. Trees are hard.”

Nell hurried over to Volo, who was crouched back with Green in front of the other lizardhounds. “Oh, Volo, were you hit? Brave lad. Are you all right?” She went about checking his feathers and wings, giving him one of her rations. That brought the lizardhounds to her and so she checked them as well. ("Oh yes, Green, you did fantastic at looking after your brothers, didn't you?")

“We should get away from here,” Panic urged. “If that was part of a coven of some kind, we should keep going for a little bit.”

Task hopped over to the corpses and began to check their pockets, gathering their flying staves to take back to Alivast. “Pity we can’t use these.”

Nell came a moment later to join the ranger but she did not touch the bodies. She knelt down beside one of the hags. The warlock took out her little bell again and seemed to focus on it. For just a moment, in the bright light and shadows, a wisp of dust puffed between her talons and the hag. The kenku shuddered. “These creatures could speak Auron.”

“They seem to be some kind of hag?” Panic mused. 

“Sometimes, hags do gain control of giants,” Remy added.

Nell then did the same beside the giant, the wispy shadows flickered between them and were gone. “This one only spoke Giant.”

“So now you can understand those languages?” Task asked, carefully removing all the projectiles that could be salvaged from the corpses.

“Yes, but only to the same understanding as these creatures. So thank you, again. You’ve already made this trip worth it for me, if nothing else.” 

“You know,” Panic said, “if you’ve never lived in a city, Alivast itself would be full of new experiences, I imagine.”

Nell looked at the tiefling and nodded thoughtfully. “That is true. I hadn’t considered it but I imagine I could get work there for a time. Enough to rebuild my stock of scrolls.”

When Greckles felt steady enough, they all mounted up, though Remy stayed on the ground with them. The weather seemed to clear now that the hags were dead and so it took them far less time to reach the sand and rocks of the coast. 

And there, in the middle of the cliffside was a massive crack, a maw opening up into the stone wide enough to push an armada of ships through it. It was black and eerie in the night. Only the moon could illuminate the cracks and edges but everything else inside was in darkness. 

Task found them a crescent grotto near the cliffs, just before the sandy shore began but hidden from sight and high enough to not be submerged when the tide came in. Nell raised her tower again, adding a kitchen and study this time. 

They all piled in to rest and warm up. But they were excited too, seeing the entrance of their exploration sight had them all talking as they ate, drank and bathed. 

Task was still discussing the maps with Remy, even as he was piling quilts up on the giant cushion he’d hauled to his favorite spot in front of the fireplace. 

Borky was reveling, telling Stanley all about suplexing a giant while he chowed his way through a steak and several baked potatoes. Greckles was sitting at the table while Panic checked his head and feathers for him. 

“Yeah, you took a whack, birdman,” Panic told him, gingerly touching the lump on Greckles’ head. “You feel sick at all? Sleepy?”

“Not really. I’ll have a bath and see how it feels. I know after fighting, there’s the adrenaline and such. It’s probably just bruised.”

“All right,” Panic told him, patting the rogue on his shoulder. “Just say something. You know, if you throw up in the baths, pass out and crack your beak, Solly will be pissed off, I imagine.”

Greckles snorted, finally cracking a smile. “Ha, I will. Thanks, Panic.”

The bard waved it off, taking out his pipe and filling it instead. “You could also try drinking. That might help.” 

Greckles chuckled and rolled his eyes, heading up the ramp for the baths. 

Nell took Remy up to show him the study. “This is a larger collection of the books that I’ve read in the past. You can ask the shelves if you’re looking for a certain topic and they’ll help you find it.” 

Like the other rooms, the study was circular. The walls were fit with perfectly curved bookshelves containing a couple hundred volumes. There was one window, with red and gold curtains, that had a mess of candles and a decanter of mulled wine sitting on a low oak table in front of it. Along the back of the wall, there was a large writing desk and cushioned chair with a wizard lamp sitting on the edge, pouring warm golden light over the supply of scrolls and inks.

Remy wandered to the shelves, peering over the titles. Nell had clearly read many books during her travels across a number of lands. She left him to his privacy but did return a few minutes later with mulled wine and a platter of chicken pie, biscuits and butter, rather to his surprise. 

“Don’t forget to eat, Remy,” was all she said, very politely, before she inclined her head to him and took her leave again.

Greckles and Task ended up in the observatory, studying the surrounding area and gathering up the maps that the tower generated. The kobold was taking a great many notes. 

Borky had fallen asleep propped up against Stanley, who changed into a _papazon_ chair around the orc. Panic snorted and threw a quilt over his friend before kicking back in his overstuffed armchair and sipping mulled wine. 

The bard pulled out his sending stone, tapped the rune and sent a message to Willow: _”Tomorrow is going to be busy. It looks like we found the site. Ran into some hags.”_

The wizard replied back almost instantly with, _”Oh my goodness, Panic, please be careful!”_

The tiefling snorted and put his sending stone next to his cup of wine. “Ha, no way.”  
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End file.
